Harry Potter and the Order of the Lily
by Victory in Chains
Summary: Hogwarts keeps her children safe. With the Dark Lord reborn, she reaches out to those who came before, those who know war and battle. Four children on the precipice of adulthood will grow and heal in ways they can barely imagine. Four friends will plumb the corners of the Earth to challenge the Dark Lord, and end his oppression forever. AU, post-Triwizard Tournament.
1. Missing

**01 July 1995 - English Countryside - Hogwarts Express**

Harry Potter watched quietly as his best friend stared sightlessly out the window at the placid countryside. He was somewhat surprised at the realization that she was his best friend; it was a title he'd always attributed to Ron. Before the first task he'd found her company more tedious than he was comfortable admitting, but since Ron had come to terms with Harry's inclusion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry had found his company grating.

Ronald Weasley was loud, Ronald Weasley was abrasive, Ronald Weasley was ill-mannered, and Ronald Weasley was temperamental. _It's funny,_ Harry mused, _how much that mattered now._ After their reunion it hadn't mattered, but as time went on it began to bother him more and more.

"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Hermione said softly, looking away from the window and towards him.

Harry impulsively grasped her hand, squeezing it gently. "Not everything," he assured her. "You'll still be my best friend. Ron's mouth will still outrun his brain."

"It rather does, doesn't it?" she grinned.

"You'll still have a pretty smile," he went on.

"Are you flirting with me, Harry?" she teased.

"A bit," Harry admitted. "If you'd rather I didn't-"

"No, it's okay," she interrupted. "But-"  
"Flirting's fun, but more would be weird?" he guessed.

"Yes," she nodded. "I don't know why. It just feels…"

"Like romance would be terribly awkward between us."

"Right!" she exclaimed. Harry gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.

"I'm glad you don't mind the flirting, though," he smiled. "It's… comfortable. I'm going to go get some food. See you later, Hermione." He rose from the bench and left the compartment.

"Later, Harry," she answered.

 **01 July 1995 - King's Cross Station - Platform 9¾**

Hermione Granger was irritated.

After Harry had left the compartment, Ron had returned and started playing Exploding Snap solitaire. The explosions were irregular enough that she couldn't tune them out to read.

Draco Malfoy had eventually paid them a 'visit', and the two boys had ended up brawling, further trying her temper. She'd ended up hexing them both, and felt ashamed at her loss of composure.

Perhaps that was why Ronald had evacuated the compartment immediately after their arrival at the platform. She would have forgiven him that if he hadn't left her to struggle with her luggage by herself. When eventually she managed to extract her trunk from the rack, it had landed on her foot, leaving her limping.

And she still hadn't seen Harry!

Spotting her parents, she bid Ron a surly goodbye. Trying to convince her parents to wait for her to find Harry proved a waste of breath. With one last searching look at the platform, she followed her parents out of the station.

* * *

Vernon Dursley was irritated.

The freak was supposed to be back from his blasted school today. But the boy hadn't the manners to be punctual, the train had arrived forty-five minutes ago.

Deciding he'd waited long enough, Mr. Dursley returned to his car and drove off. The freak could find his own way home.

* * *

Amelia Bones was irritated.

Fudge had dumped the whole issue of Lord Voldemort's 'alleged' revivification on her desk and told her to sort it out. The investigation had barely begun before the whole thing was mired down in realpolitik.

She had no crime scene. Harry Potter was considered an unreliable witness. All she really had was Alastor Moody with ten months of missing memories.

She still needed to interview Harry, but his guardians were being uncooperative. _At least I have an active case to work on,_ she admitted, _administrivia isn't nearly as stimulating. Now where is Susan?_

The platform was clearing slowly, but she still hadn't spotted her grandniece. Patience was a prerequisite for any law officer, and Amelia exercised hers. Waiting a little longer wouldn't harm anyone.

* * *

Augusta Longbottom was irritated.

The Regent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom reflected on the rumours running about high politics. The House of Magi had been sitting for a week, and for one as savvy as the Dowager Lady Longbottom, signs of unpleasantness to come were obvious.

The fractiousness of the Isolationist bloc had settled, and they were acting like an actual political bloc for the first time since the arrest of Lucius Malfoy almost two years ago. They tried to disguise it, of course, but she was experienced enough to see the signs. Someone had managed to secure leadership and get them working in concert again.

 _I'll have to step up Neville's lessons,_ she reflected. _He needs to be able to recognize situations like this. Now where is that boy?_

* * *

Ladon Greengrass, Magister Greengrass was irritated.

The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic had been irritated ever since his unexpected, and unwelcome, promotion two years before. He'd taken a post in Minister Fudge's cabinet as a favor to his wife, and after what was being called the 'Malfoy Disaster' had found himself as acting Minister for almost six months.

He'd wanted to return to his fairly junior position once Fudge had recovered, but Fudge couldn't afford the public reaction to his apparent demotion, and Fudge was his wife's favorite nephew. Now he was stuck being the number two man in an administration that was rapidly headed for disaster.

The public wouldn't care that they'd been completely hamstrung by the deadlocked House of Magi. They wouldn't care that the administration had to observe the legal protections for subjects of the Crown. The public wouldn't care that they themselves wouldn't stand for the stringent measures required to deny the Dark Lord a foothold.

No, all the public would care about is that Lord Voldemort had returned, Harry Potter had said so, and that Fudge's government hadn't stopped him.

Lord Greengrass pinched his nose and broke out of his morose thoughts, looking around for his elder daughter and frowning. The platform was almost empty; where was the girl?

* * *

When only six families remained on the platform, Lord Greengrass made his way across the space to greet Madam Bones. Ladon Greengrass was a tall, handsome, austere man, with sharply defined features and a neatly kept beard. His hair and beard were pure white and his sharp features severe. He'd celebrated his centenary last year, and less than two decades before he'd caused quite a scandal by marrying a witch a fifth his age.

Then inspired a number of ribald remarks when that witch soon announced she was pregnant.

Now his blue eyes flashed with barely restrained fury as he addressed the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, though he maintained his genteel manners. "Madam Bones, I seem to be missing my heir," he said mildly. "And it appears that the young Lady Bones and Lordan Longbottom are also absent." (1)

Amelia Bones was a serious, attractive witch with a strong jaw and red-blonde hair. A scar twisted her left eyelid out of shape behind a monocle. She'd been aggressively courted from the moment she'd passed her OWLs in 1948, but her ferocious sense of independence and absolute dedication to Law Enforcement had kept her single.

Even now, bearing the sobriquet 'Iron Maiden', she fended off at least one attempt to court her every few months.

"Lord Greengrass, the rail attendants are already searching the train," she answered curtly, "and a message is en route to the Headmaster, requiring his attendance with the Express' passenger manifest." Her voice dropped as she added, likely to intended to be to herself, "why they don't keep it on the Express I don't know."

Lord Greengrass heard her anyway. "Because the wards on the Express are **outside** the wizardspace in which the track exists and warding information can't be passed from normal space to wizardspace," he answered.

"Why do you know that?" she wondered.

"Because Hogwarts' wards and protections were extensively discussed during the negotiations for the Triwizard Tournament. Ah, here's Dumbledore."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not a happy man. He hadn't been truly happy for many years. True, there had been moments of joy, but happiness had been elusive since the first whispered reports of Lord Voldemort had reached his ears. Today, however, marked another nadir.

Four students were missing, including his favorite. Vanished from the very seat of his power as though they had never been. An heir of a great house, and three heads of great houses, all disappeared. It only slightly comforted him that there was sure to be plenty of unhappiness to go around.

He read the manifest again with frustrated eyes. Four names in bright black. Bones, Lady Susan. Greengrass, Ladan Daphne. Longbottom, Lordan Neville. Potter, Lord Harry. With their boarding times neatly inscribed next to them, and the departure times blank. Dumbledore scowled at the manifest and thrust it abruptly towards Madam Bones, visibly mastering his temper.

"Amelia, my Lord Greengrass, Dowager Longbottom," he greeted them civilly. "According to the manifest, four students, including your three missing wards, are still on the train."

"The train's been searched three times, Headmaster," retorted Lord Greengrass. "Once by the staff, once by house elves, and once by Law Enforcement Patrol Officers. They're not there."

"I did not say they were," Dumbledore clarified. "I said that according to the protective enchantments on the Express, they never left it."

"Is Harry Potter also missing?" Augusta Longbottom inquired, looking over Amelia's shoulder. "His name also appears on the list as still on the train."

"I do not know," Dumbledore admitted. "As his guardians are not here, I assume not."

"But you will check," Amelia ordered.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed.

"All right," Amelia straightened up and nodded. "I'm officially declaring this a potential act of terrorism. Every on-duty Auror will be here within fifteen minutes to begin preliminary investigations, and a task force assembled. After which I will have to suspend you two," she nodded to Dowager Longbottom and Lord Greengrass, "and myself from all governmental positions as potentially compromised. Does anyone have a suggestion for who should head the investigation?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Dumbledore offered.

"I concur," Dowager Longbottom agreed.

"I don't object," Lord Greengrass acceded.

"Very well," Amelia said. "I shall begin immediately. Headmaster, if you would, contact all the prefects and their guardians and ask them to stand by. And Lord Potter's friends, too. I'll do the same for Susan, and Augusta and Ladon, please do so for your missing wards."

Four of the most powerful people in Wizarding Britain split apart, leaving the platform to attend to their tasks, all very worried for the children in their care.

 **01 July 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home**

A young woman in an unremarkable grey pantsuit was sitting behind the wheel of an unremarkable beige four-door compact, parked in the street in front of a snug country cottage in Crawley. The residence of the Grangers was somewhat isolated, and possibly a Heritage-listed building. The walls she could see were made from irregular, mortared stone and the roof was made from ceramic tile. It felt welcoming and cozy.

The young woman was a rookie Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd been tapped for this assignment because she was one of the most capable in the department at operating in the so-called 'Muggle World', and she was young enough to put the interviewee at ease. Her name was Nymphadora Tonks.

Tonks was quite nervous. The case she'd been attached to was very high-profile. Too high-profile, really, for a rookie, but no one in the department was as unobtrusive as she. She'd been waiting outside the Grangers' home for almost four hours when a Range Rover pulled into the driveway. She watched as the car pulled into the drive and then into a detached carriage house.

Three people left the carriage house and crossed a covered walkway into the cottage. The man was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, but average, though very fit. He was balding, with hair cut down to stubble and a rugged, but attractive face. He clocked her immediately, and made sure she noticed him doing so.

The woman was short, curvy, and very blonde, with a pretty face and a bright smile. She had a happy walk and was chattering brightly. The tones, but not the words, reached Tonks' auto from the walkway and evoked a smile from the auror.

The daughter was taller than her mother, with sharp, beautiful features and thick, curly hair. She'd shed the last softness of childhood but not yet grown into her body; she was almost androgynous. Like her father, she noticed Tonks' vehicle and presence, but did nothing to indicate she'd done so.

All three were dressed informally, in jeans, t-shirts, and jumpers, although the woman's were clearly higher quality than her daughter's or husband's. Tonks waited a half hour longer to let them settle, and then left the car and rapped sharply on the door. She was unsurprised when it was opened immediately by the man.

"Mister Richard Granger?" she asked, holding up her identification folder.

"Yes," he answered.

"My name is Nymphadora Tonks. I'm an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - we're the magical equivalent of Detective Inspectors - and I need to interview your daughter." (2)

"Why?" he demanded.

"Four students went missing from the school train," she explained. "One of whom was Harry Potter. As best we can determine, your daughter was the last person to speak with him before his disappearance."

Granger nodded, and opened the door wider. "Come in."

Tonks followed him inside. The interior of the home told her that the cottage wasn't Heritage listed, as the flooring and walls were modern. The walls were painted soft, warm hues, and the carpets dark, cooler hues. The decor tended towards watercolor landscapes and classical sculpture. Mr. Granger led her to a family room with a sofa and three chairs arranged in a conversational grouping, and one wall consisting entirely of bookshelves. The absence of a television surprised her as she took a seat. Mrs and Miss Granger were already present, seated on a sofa.

"Poppet, Sweetheart, this is Auror Tonks," Mr. Granger introduced her, "Auror Tonks, my wife Helen and my daughter Hermione. Auror Tonks needs to interview Hermione."

Tonks took the offered seat and looked directly at Hermione. Her next words had the precise inflection of phrasing learned by rote, "Miss Granger, I am an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I am here to interview you in conjunction with an active investigation. You are not a suspect, nor are you required to answer any questions at this time, but if decline to cooperate a subpoena may be sought. If you wish to have a solicitor present, that is your right. As you are a minor, your guardians are not required to be present, but they must give you permission to speak to me without their presence. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded once, "Yes, I do."

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, do you understand?" she asked.

The adult Grangers glanced at each other and nodded, "We do."

Tonks retrieved what appeared to be a tape recorder from her inside jacket pocket. "Does anyone object to my recording this interview?"

"You use a tape recorder?" Hermione asked. Tonks shook her head.

"It's a magical device that performs the same function. But since we frequently interact with the non-magical world, most of our kit is designed to appear non-magical," she clarified.

Familiar with his daughter's habits, Mr. Granger preempted her next question. "We have no objections to your recording the interview."

"Thank you." Tonks activated the recorder, and then balanced a notebook on her knee. "Miss Granger, please tell me about the last time you saw Harry Potter."

"It was… odd." Hermione frowned a bit, and then described the conversation they'd had. "It didn't bother me, but Harry's **never** flirted with anyone before."

"What's the nature of your relationship with Mr. Potter?"

"He's my best friend, and he tells me I'm his," she answered without hesitation.

"Could his flirting with you have been a probe into your receptiveness towards a more intimate relationship?" Tonks asked.

Hermione bit the inside of her lip as she thought about that, then shook her head. "I think it's unlikely. Harry and I have been friends for almost four years. The conversation could have be interpreted that way, but his body language was all wrong for that."

"What do you know of Mr. Potter's home life?"

"I know that there's no affection between him and his relatives," she admitted. "I know that they're afraid of magic, and that Harry isn't treated very well."

"Do you think Mr. Potter may have run away from his guardians?" Tonks continued.

"I think it unlikely," Hermione insisted. "He doesn't like it there, but Headmaster Dumbledore wanted him to stay there for awhile. Harry trusts the Headmaster, and so I think he would obey him."

"What has Mr. Potter's mood been like since the incident after the Third Task?" Tonks asked.

"Incident?" Hermione demanded scathingly. "You mean his **kidnapping**?" Tonks reached out and stopped the tape recorder, shaking her head.

"Miss Granger, the **official** ," she stressed, "position of the Ministry of Magic, and therefore the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is that the portkey function of the Triwizard Cup was damaged by magical interference, resulting in the quote unfortunate death unquote of Cedric Diggory.

"Many of us know better, but we must be cautious. There's a strong minority in House of Magi that supports He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and they're doing everything they can to hamper any response we might make. We're in the same sort of situation that Britain was in 1939, only we've got a Winston Churchill as Minister instead of a Neville Chamberlain. But until we can get enough proof to convince the populace to support the measures we need to take, we can't make waves."

"What about Harry's testimony?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.

"Mr. Potter was exposed to Acromantula venom before the incident with the cup. Because Acromantula venom has known narcotic and hallucinogenic properties, Mr. Potter is considered to have been _non compos mentis_. His testimony has no evidentiary value, especially against the kind of political pressure being exerted."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "Give me a moment, then," she asked, frowning. "I need to figure out how to lie with the truth."

"Tell us what you want to say, dear," Hermione's mother interrupted. "Let us help you figure out how to say it."

"Harry was… really, really focused," Hermione answered. "He thought he didn't do well enough in the graveyard, that he should have done much better. He was making plans to improve his situational awareness, reaction times, and pain tolerance, although he didn't know exactly how to phrase it.

"He spent a lot of time once he got out of the hospital wing in the library, researching wizard combat," she continued. "He was trying to learn what worked and what didn't. He got really frustrated with that, because that kind of information is scarce."

Tonks hummed quietly. "You should leave out the bit about 'wizard combat'. One of the strategies being used is to make Mr. Potter seem violent and unstable. The transcript of my recording will go into the case file. If you go on record that Mr. Potter was trying to learn how to fight wizards, it will be used against him."

"I hate this!" Hermione exploded. "I hate having to tiptoe around the truth, having to watch every word, having to be paranoid! I hate it!" Her father caught her in a hug as she began to sob.

"Auror Tonks, I think this interview is concluded for the moment," he said. "If you could return tomorrow?"

Tonks nodded her agreement. "Two in the afternoon?"

"That'll be fine," Mrs. Granger answered. "We'll expect you then."

 **01 July 1995 - Goathland, North Yorkshire - Goathland Cell** (3)

On the outside, Goathland Cell looked much like the Granger home. The interior was quite different. A traditional Wizarding home, Goathland Cell had been the home of the Abbott family since before the fall of Camelot. Though neat, the floors were still made up of original flagstone, the walls were unpanelled, and the entire home had an austerity to it that was the opposite of the Granger home.

Auror Steven Whitby found the sitting room he to which he had been escorted highly intimidating. It didn't help that a Magister of Magical Britain's ruling body was lurking in the corner, watching him with barely restrained disapproval. Nor that Lordan and Lordana Abbott were flanking his interview subject and looking entirely affronted.

In the last century, the DMLE had managed to shed most of the classism common to the rest of Magical Britain, becoming the most egalitarian department in the Ministry for Magic. At times like this, Auror Whitby wished they hadn't been as successful as they were; his subjects were clearly offended by his social rank, and were being genteelly obstructionist as a result. Shacklebolt had probably forgotten that social classes even existed when picking the task force and distributing assignments.

"We understand," Lordan Abbott said sharply. Whitby had just finished delivering the standard rights lecture. Whitby nodded and made a note, then retrieved his recording device and asked for permission. The Lordan glanced over at Lord Abbott, who nodded once. Whitby was given permission to record the interview.

"Miss Abbott, please tell me about the last time you saw Miss Susan Bones," Whitby asked. Long experience prevented him from sighing at the narrow-eyed glare Miss and Lordana Abbott leveled at him. He'd obviously violated some principle of etiquette and offended his interviewees.

" **Lady** Bones and I were attending a memorial gathering in honor of Cedric Diggory, held in the prefects' carriage aboard the Hogwarts Express," Hannah answered in clipped tones. "As the memorial went on, Lady Bones became more distressed. She excused herself to cry in private."

"Who else attended this memorial?" he followed up. Hannah began listing names, almost too fast for Whitby to keep up his note-taking. He'd thought the order was random, or perhaps temporal, until Lordana Abbott clucked her tongue.

"Washburne before Blakely, Hannah," the Lordana corrected. Whitby couldn't quite keep his expression neutral. _There's an organization to this?_ he wondered. Miss Abbott flushed gently at the correction. He made a note in the margin to ask someone in the department for clarification.

The questions continued, asking after Susan's emotional state (grieving quietly), her behavior over the last week (relaxed but pensive), and her relationships with Daphne Greengrass (distant cordiality), Neville Longbottom (politely cool), and Harry Potter.

"Potter is an ill-mannered, arrogant lout," Hannah sneered. "He's been snubbing everyone since before school started, the oh-so-great Boy-Who-Lived, too **important** to even decline an invitation or assent to an introduction."

"Is there anything else that you think may be relevant to the investigation?" Whitby concluded.

Hannah glowered at the floor. "As much of a jerk as Potter is, he's the ablest in our year with a wand. He's tops in Charms and Defence practicals, and just behind Granger in Transfiguration practical. If he bothered to work more, he'd be the best student in our year. He's definitely the strongest in our year, and Lady Bones is almost as powerful as he is, if not as skilled. If Potter was taken against his will, it was a very subtle trap."

* * *

It turned out that no one had seen Neville Longbottom or Daphne Greengrass since the Express had boarded. Tracey Davis' interview revealed that Miss Greengrass had been fretting about something since the day after the Third Task, but no details were available. Neville Longbottom's closest friend proved to be the missing Harry Potter, but that friendship was superficial at best.

Panic and furor mounted as time passed, but despite the feverish efforts of the task force, no new leads were uncovered. With four Great Houses involved, resources were available for almost any effort that might produce results, but none did.

The greatest ward specialists in the world examined the Hogwarts Express, but couldn't unravel more than a quarter of the protections and enchantments on the train and track. Many suggested it was less than that, and that there was more magic involved than they could detect. Dumbledore's investigations were even less fruitful. He barely held onto his post as Headmaster after being quoted in the Daily Prophet as saying 'Hogwarts has many mysteries, we cannot hope to comprehend them all.'

Through it all, Hermione Granger worried for her best friend.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This is set in the same universe as my story 'The Minister's Chair' (which can be considered a prequel to this story).

Most of the 'manners' I'm using for the upper class are derived from my reading of Jane Austen and Brontë, with smatterings of Julia Quinn. I swear I spend more time making notes about address and precedence than I do actually writing.

I need to credit 'broomstick flyer' for "Richard and Helen" Granger. Common fanon is to use Dan and Emma, which is perfectly serviceable, but I like Richard and Helen. They're much stronger, richer names.

1: 'Lordan' is an honorific I made up to denote the male heir apparent of a Wizarding noble house ('Ladan' is the female version). I just didn't want to follow the convention of using 'Heir/ess [SURNAME]'.

2: Yes, Tonks hates her given name, but she's a professional and a law officer. She's required to accurately identify herself.

3\. Goathland Cell was a hermitage associated with Whitby Abbey, described as "a farm called 'Abbot House'".

I'm still seeking an editor. If you or someone you know is willing to do so and has a good grasp of the English language, please contact me via PM.


	2. Happy Birthday, Potter

**31 July 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home**

In the early evening, a young man with untidy black hair and vibrant green eyes strode briskly up the walk to the front door of the Granger home. After a brief inspection of the door, he lifted the knocker and let it clap solidly against the base, then patiently waited for a response.

A middle-aged man opened the door within ten seconds. Dr. Richard Granger carefully examined the young man on his porch. Short and slender, he was well-built in a wiry way, reminding Dr. Granger of an acrobat or gymnast. The young man was wearing sensible, sturdy shoes, pressed, lightweight navy slacks, a short-sleeved white oxford shirt, and a narrow navy tie. The clothes were neat, clean, and well-fitted. Dr. Granger slightly narrowed his eyes at the cut of the shirt, his posture subtly tautening (1).

"Yes?" he asked.

"Dr. Granger?" the young man asked. At the older man's nod, he continued. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm a friend of Hermione's from school. Is she available?"

"The friend who's been missing."

"Ah," Harry flushed slightly. "Not exactly. I was participating in a summer program through the school, but there was a communications foul-up somewhere and the notifications were never delivered. I'm actually here to tell Hermione about it and apologize."

Dr. Granger gave Harry a swift visual evaluation and shook his head. "Hermione's at the the Weasley home, I believe it's called 'The Burrow'. It was assumed that if you turned up, that would be where you went first."

"Thank you, sir," Harry responded. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go find her."

"You might want to hit a florist first. And be ready to do a lot of grovelling," Dr. Granger advised. "Hermione's favorites are begonias."

"Thanks," Harry called over his shoulder, walking swiftly towards the street. Dr. Granger saw a flash of purple before the young man was gone.

 **31 July 1995 - Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon - River Otter South Bank**

The River Otter was a sluggish, gently meandering river that teased across the western corner of Devon. It was almost miraculous in it's clarity, disdaining the brown and grey of its fellows in favor of a clear aquamarine, freckled with golden ripples. A smooth, well-worn path followed the southern bank, fenced and shaded with ancient willow trees.

Hermione Granger had to make a conscious effort not to outpace her friend as they walked the river path between the Burrow and the village. The oppressive atmosphere at the Burrow had started to overwhelm her; she needed to get out, she needed to move. Harry's disappearance, along with the others, had inspired uncertainty and anxiety among most of the public.

Among those who believed his report of the revivification of Lord Voldemort, the reactions had bypassed anxiety and skipped straight to hysteria. Despite Snape's reports - and wasn't that a kick in the teeth, that the professor she had so vehemently defended was a Death Eater - a significant subset of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix believed that the Dark Lord had kidnapped Harry and the other three.

She had needed to escape the emotional tension that bore down on all her senses and made her teeth ache. She was so grateful for Ginny, who had gotten her out of the house and away, for at least a short time, from the uncertainty. The kerfuffle surrounding the disappearance of four children of four Great Houses had led to the realization that very little was actually known about the premiere school for wanded magic.

At over 1500 years old, Hogwarts Castle was the second-oldest extant magical structure in the world, behind the Halls of the Tao in the Wuyi Mountains of China (2). Two days ago the DMLE Task Force in charge of what was being called 'the Express Incident' had released a report stating that understanding the magic influencing Hogwarts Castle would require a team composed of archaeologists, linguists, enchanters, warders, arithmancers, and diviners, working for at least a decade.

Hermione suspected that the castle would be closed and the school moved to another location. She wasn't sure if she was looking forward to it or not; Hogwarts Castle had always been comfortable and welcoming. Despite her misadventures, she felt safe at Hogwarts in a way she rarely had.

"Ginny," she impulsively broke the silence. Her friend raised her head and looked over. "Do you feel safe in the castle?"

Ginevra (call me Ginny) Weasley was a short (still taller than Harry) girl. Half a head shorter than Hermione was, she had a boyish figure, a soft face, and solemn brown eyes. If not for her hair and her aggressively feminine features, she could have been mistaken for a boy.

"I really shouldn't," she mused. "I mean, during my first year I was basically mind raped." Her voice trembled a bit, but she determinedly shook off the encroaching darkness. "I was nearly killed in the Chamber. And during my second year I was basically assaulted by those bloody demons.

"But I do," she admitted. "I do feel safe at Hogwarts. It's like, as long as I'm a student in her halls, I can be hurt, but never harmed."

Hermione nodded gently. "I feel the same way," she confessed. "I was thinking about it just now, and I realized that I should be **terrified** of the school. But I feel safe there."

"Well, think about it, Hermione," Ginny prompted. "You've read Hogwarts, A History some five times now. How many students have died at the school?"

"Seventeen," Hermione answered immediately. "In… almost a thousand years…" Hermione trailed off.

"Yeah," Ginny continued. "It feels like it should be dangerous, but in almost a thousand years as a school, only seventeen students have died at the school."

"And magic can be very dangerous," Hermione concluded. "So if only seventeen students have died over the last thousand years, something very powerful is protecting them."

"And not just from death," Ginny asserted. "I should have been much more distressed after my first year. It should have left lasting emotional and mental scars, but it didn't. The castle really does protect the students from harm."

"Now that I think about it," Hermione mused, "There's never been a rape or sexual assault recorded at Hogwarts, either. Not even a rumored one."

"And that's plain unbelievable," Ginny acknowledged, "unless there's some serious magic involved."

"We should- GET DOWN!"

Hermione never quite figured out how she knew, but in that instant, she **knew** that if she and Ginny didn't move right then, that they would both die in the next few moments. With her mind shrieking at her ( _Too slow, too slow, too slow!_ ), she grabbed Ginny's wrist and pulled the younger girl flat onto the path as spellfire erupted from the opposite bank.

Hissing like an angry cat, streaks of humming light ( _Wand, where's my wand!?_ ) leapt across the river, hammering into the trees where the girls had been standing moments before. The crackle and groan of overstressed wood drowned out the voices of their attackers and the hiss of a second burst of spellfire.

Earth and splinters filled the air as the girls scrambled for the limited protection of the tree fence. A brutal crack heralded a scream as a heavy tree limb landed on Ginny's ankle, breaking the bone and pinning the girl in place.

Hermione had never believed that she would be grateful that Harry's name had erupted from the Goblet of Fire last October, but as she strained to hold a shield against the spells ( _And why were they so basic?_ ) being flung at the two girls, she acknowledged for the first time that there had been some benefit.

Ginny had managed to retrieve her wand and in a burst of inspiration flung fire across the river. She didn't think she had harmed anyone, but that hadn't been her goal; she'd filled the area with a haze of steam and set the brush on the opposite bank alight, adding smoke and confusion.

Sweat stung on her cheek as Hermione staggered under another trio of spells slamming into her shield. Through the mess of dust and mist and smoke, she could see two dark-robed figures wading across the river.

"Ginny, can you shield?" The younger girl gritted her teeth and shook her head.

"Hurts too much," she gasped. "Can't focus."

Hermione fell backwards, landing hard on her behind as her shield shattered under another assault. The backlash left her dazed and blinking. Time dilated into a frantic, lugubrious clarity as a singing yellow bolt of light swelled in her vision. She flinched back, trying to raise her hands, put something, anything between her face and that encroaching, horrifying light.

 **31 July 1995 - Granger Home**

Tonks' usual ebullience was entirely absent as she approached the Granger home for the third time. Tension sang across her shoulders and in her jaw, and her posture was slumped and weary. As with the last two times she'd been here, Mr. Granger opened the door within ten seconds of her knock. _How does he do that, anyway?_

With her hair a mousy brown rather than its usual vibrant hue, it took Hermione's father a moment to recognize her. "Auror Tonks," he greeted her flatly.

"Mr. Granger," she acknowledged with a nod. "I need you and your wife to come with me. There's been an attack…"

 **31 July 1995 - River Otter South Bank**

Hermione blinked against the sudden shade. A limp, bone-deep chill had settled in her limbs as she struggled with the fact that she was still alive. Crouching over her was a slender figure in rugged clothing and a hooded half-robe, holding a wand in each fine, long-fingered hand.

The spell that threatened her an instant before had impacted on a thick, semi-circular, four foot high earthen berm that cradled the two witches and their benefactor. Angry shouts were half-heard over the cacophony of increasing spellfire. She sensed rather than saw this newest stranger inspecting both her and Ginny.

"Do either of you need immediate medical attention?" he asked. Hermione knew that voice, but her rising shock left her too dazed to place it. She shook her head as she peered at him, trying to see past the shadows - magical, surely - cast by his hood.

"All right," he answered pleasantly. "Hm, wands or swords?"

 _What?_ Hermione asked herself. _Did I hear that correctly?_ A closer look confirmed that, yes, their rescuer was wearing a pair of short, straight-bladed swords.

"Wands," he decided, nodding decisively. "You two stay under cover," he ordered, before whispering, " _Jee Dai Stupefy,_ " while twirling each wand. Hermione's eyes narrowed as a shimmering, bright red beam flowed from the tip of each wand, anchoring there like…

"Lightsabers!?" she yelped.

The shadow cloaking her rescuer's face receded just enough for her to see the amused grin he flashed her before springing over the berm and into the open. Hermione started to lift her head to see, only to duck back as a stray spell blasted a divot the size of her fist out of the crest of the berm sheltering her.

Outside her shelter, magic flew thick and heavy, a subtle weight on her senses that left her straining. She forced it to the side of her mind and huddled closer to Ginny.

"Ginny," Hermione called, gripping the other girl's hand. Ginny jerked and then whimpered as the movement agitated her ankle. "I'm going to wrap up your ankle, okay? But it's going to hurt, so brace yourself." The redhead nodded, clamping her mouth shut. Hermione could just see the tendons in Ginny's jaw straining tight as she braced herself. Hermione leveled her wand and whispered, " _Ferula._ "

Ginny's trouser leg unravelled from the knee down, transfiguring into bandages and binding tightly around her ankle. She successfully restrained her scream, but couldn't stop tears of pain from leaking from the corners of her eyes. Hermione cringed with sympathy at the other girl's pain, then forced herself to nod briskly.

"Right," she said. "I'll transfigure a crutch and that should do you until we can get you to a healer."

"Where'd you learn that spell?" Ginny asked.

"Professor Lupin used it on Ron once," Hermione explained. "I looked it-"

Both girls cringed at the sudden scream that erupted into the suddenly still air, immediately followed by the humming zap of an activating portkey. Their ears rang in the sudden quiet, and both girls felt a slight ripple through the magic still heavy in the atmosphere.

"Ladies, it's safe now, they've all departed," called their rescuer. "Please don't be alarmed," he continued calmly, "I'm reversing the transfiguration of your cover."

Hermione was thankful for the warning. _I probably would have panicked if he hadn't given it,_ she admitted internally. As the earthen berm melted away, she twisted her wand and murmured the inanimate-to-inanimate transfiguration spell, reshaping a broken tree limb into a crutch for Ginny. She permitted herself a small smile at the irony of Ginny supporting herself with the very thing that had broken her ankle.

"Who are you?" Ginny demanded as Hermione helped her up. Supporting Ginny, Hermione canted her head to the side, intensely interested in the answer.

The stranger shook his head. "Call me Ghost," he replied. Hermione scoffed. She could see the shadows under his hood lightening again, just enough to show a sad, wistful smile.

"Everything's going to change now," he continued, and somehow, despite the fact that his face was completely obscured, Hermione knew that he was watching her. "Isn't it?"

Hermione's thoughts, muzzled and hobbled still under the magical backlash of her broken shield, lurched into frantic motion. She knew him, she loved him… she would honor this request, she would keep his silence. For now. "Not everything," she murmured. "Not everything."

There was a thunderous crack as the stranger twisted on his heel, disapparating even as grey-robed wizards apparated.

"DMLE, drop your wands!" came the shouted orders. Against her will, Hermione was impressed by the timing and the cleverness of it all, even as she dropped her wand and raised her hands in the air. _They'll never pick out the disapparition trace under all that interference,_ she acknowledged.

 **31 July 1995 - London, England - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Tonks found Richard Granger's stability intriguing. She knew that he'd never been exposed to portkeys before, but he barely stumbled on their arrival and was even able to keep his wife on his feet.

"That was unpleasant," he observed.

"Most forms of magical travel are," Tonks commented. "Because your personal magic is out of sync with the magic of the person doing the travelling. The wave imbalance translates into motion sickness."

"Enough," Helen Granger interrupted. "Please escort us to our daughter."

Tonks led the older couple past the Welcome Witch and into the secure wing.

* * *

The Secure Wing of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries occupies half of the hospital's ground floor. The construction had been almost wholly funded by House Potter, and the material of the walls was a Potter Family secret.

Tonks knew that underneath the innocuous plaster was a metal sheeting that reflected almost all spells. Underneath that were walls of limestone anchoring the most powerful anti-transport and security wards available to the British Ministry for Magic.

The secure wing had a single entrance that was manned around the clock by a four-man Hit Wizard team. Stringent identity checks were required both outside the entrance and inside. Thirty-three people had escaped Azkaban during its history as a prison.

None had escaped the Secure Wing since its inception.

The secure wing had twenty-seven recovery rooms equipped for a single patient, three operating theatres, a potions manufactory, and a kitchen. Three recovery rooms were currently occupied, one by Hermione Granger, one by Ginevra Weasley, and one by Gregory Goyle.

A healer met the Granger party just inside the entrance to the wing, and Tonks excused herself.

"Your daughter has been diagnosed with borderline magical exhaustion, minor aura disruption, and minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises," the healer told them. "Aura disruption presents symptoms similar to a head injury, so expect her to have minor short-term memory issues and to be… sluggish. It's harder for her to think than it usually is. It's important that she remains calm, so if she becomes distressed change the subject."

The two dentists nodded and entered the recovery room.

"Hi mum, hi daddy," Hermione greeted them cheerfully. "Did you know that the magical dissonance of a breaking shield charm causes aura disruption in witches whose magic hasn't fully matured and that that's why there aren't any junior divisions for dueling? That's really probably something that should be covered in class because aura disruption can have serious consequences for mana paths if it's not carefully attended to and…"

Hermione was half-recumbent in her recovery bed. She was being attended by a young wizard in a Law Enforcement Patrol robe and an older wizard in business dress robes. Both elder Grangers recognized the man as Adam Banks, a junior solicitor with their legal firm, and nodded a greeting. Mrs. Granger grinned at her daughter and gestured for calm.

"Relax, Hermione," she chided. "You're babbling."

"Oh, that's because I'm on a cheering charm. Auras are influenced by emotions, did you know? It's apparently very important to maintain an even temper and since potions work with a witch's own magic I can't take any because I'm borderline magically exhausted but since charms use the caster's magic rather than the target's I can be charmed even though it isn't really a charm because technically charms only work on inanimate objects and…"

The healer stopped Mrs. Granger from interrupting Hermione a second time, instructing her in a low tone, "Let her prattle if she wants. Remember to try to keep her off the upsetting topics." Mrs. Granger nodded her agreement and listened to her daughter continue talking about the minutiae of magic.

Hermione's dissertation on the details of arcane theory continued for several hours, with her father deftly redirecting her whenever the conversation started to stray towards stressful territory. The healer attended them directly for the first fifteen minutes, checking Hermione over and updating her chart before excusing himself. Eventually, she talked herself to sleep, to the mild relief of her parents and the gentle amusement of the LEP officer.

 **01 August 1995 - St. Mungo's Secure Wing**

Two minutes after the beginning of visiting hours, Mr. and Mrs. Granger entered Hermione's recovery room to find her sitting up in bed talking seriously to her solicitor. She greeted them cheerfully.

"Hi mum, hi daddy," she smiled. "The healer says I'm well recovered but I'm not to do any magic for three more days." Her parents returned her smile with relief, and took turns hugging her.

"Mr. Banks says that I'm being detained as a material witness until the DMLE takes my statement, and then I'll be discharged. We're expecting a representative in about half an hour."

"Good," her father remarked. "I'll be glad to have you home. I've got some good news for you then."

"You can't share it now?" his daughter pouted at him. He shook his head.

"When we get home, poppet," he said firmly.

"I hear your friend actually came out of this better than you did, despite her broken ankle?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "Magical medicine is very, very effective on physical trauma. Mental or magical damage is much harder, but Ginny only broke her ankle."

"Such a marvel," her mother smiled wonderingly. They spent the time waiting for the DMLE representatives discussing magical and mundane medicine.

At the appointed hour three sharp raps sounded from the door, immediately followed by four people entering. The first was Hermione's healer, who ignored the those following him and investigated Hermione's chart and cast a short diagnostic series over her. The next was a tall, balding man with an electric blue false eye and a peg leg. He flicked his gaze over each person in the room, lingering on Hermione's father. The third was wearing a grey robe, cloak, and hood; he or she was carrying a white marble basin inscribed with runes. The last was an older woman whose presence widened Hermione's eyes: Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen… and indeterminate," she nodded towards the grey-cloaked figure, who snorted. "I'm Amelia Bones, I'll be taking Miss Granger's statement."

"Excuse me, Madam Bones," Hermione interrupted. "Why is the Director of Magical Law involved?"

"Because I'm currently on suspension," she admitted. "With my niece, who is also my ward, missing and possibly a hostage, I'm considered compromised. But I'm still qualified as an auror and as your case appears to be unrelated to Susan's disappearance, it's been assigned to me."

Hermione nodded. Madam Bones continued, "This is Retired Auror Alastor Moody," she gestured to the man with the peg leg, "who has been temporarily reactivated and is working as my partner."

Moody snorted, "Because you've got the little brats so intimidated none of 'em would tell you you're being stupid."

"And because the Acting Director doesn't trust me not to go rogue if I learn something related to Susan's disappearance," she added cheerfully. Moody simply snorted again, and changed the subject.

"Miss Granger, please tell us about the incident in your own words," he directed. Hermione glanced towards her solicitor, who gave her a nod. Moody looked pleased with her discretion. She thought it an odd behavior in a law officer as she began describing the walk, the attack, her response, and their rescuer.

"Did your rescuer have any distinguishing features?" Amelia asked.

"His hood was enchanted like theirs," she pointed towards the grey-robed figure. "It kept his face obscured in shadow."

"We recovered this about a hundred feet from the site of the attack," Moody said, retrieving a clear evidence bag containing a small potted bouquet of violet begonias. Moody noted the sharpening of Mr. Granger's gaze. "What's the significance?" Moody demanded.

Hermione started to smile before cutting it off and pursing her lips. "Those are my favorite flower," she admitted. "And that's my favorite color. I'd venture it was a courting gift, but I haven't told any of my friends that begonias are my favorite and they're an uncommon choice. In flower language begonias mean 'be cautious', or that the recipient has 'a fanciful mind'.

"I don't think the second meaning really applies to me," she mused. "But maybe someone else does? Or maybe someone knew that I was to be attacked and wanted to warn me?"

"Who knows that you know enough about floriography to understand that message?" Amelia asked.

Hermione flushed slightly. "Just about anyone at the Triwizard Yule Ball last year who's familiar with floriography and anyone they told," she admitted. "I gave Draco Malfoy a bouquet of Basil and Citron at the ball."

"And that means?" Moody asked.

"'I hate you, I hate your ill-natured beauty,'" Amelia provided, darkening Hermione's blush.

"Yes, well, he's a jerk," she brushed it off.

Smirking faintly, Amelia changed the subject, "Miss Granger, we'd like to retrieve your memory of the attack for review."

"How's that work?" Mr. Granger asked.

The grey-robed figure spoke for the first time. Their voice was distorted and flat, completely inflectionless. "People with open mana gates sense magic. It's the sixth classical sense. Those who don't study or at least review the Mind Arts rarely even realize that they have it. But that magical sense is recorded in memory as much as sights and sounds and smells are.

"But instead of being stored chemically, memories of the magical sense are stored magically. I have the ability to tease out the magical portion of the memory, which can then be decoded by this," he or she gestured towards the rune-inscribed basin, "which is called a pensieve. We can then review the memory."

"Why haven't I realized that I'm sensing magic before now?" Hermione asked.

"Because human brains aren't adapted for that sense. You've been interpreting your magic sense as other sensory input," the figure answered.

"This is safe?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Completely," the healer assured her. "So long as the witch or wizard retrieving the memory has the appropriate skill set. I assure you that Unspeakable Protas has the right skills and is very capable."

"Do you want to, poppet?" Mr. Granger inquired of his daughter.

"Yes, daddy," Hermione asserted. "As long as we can review it with them the first time."

"We don't mind," Amelia grinned dangerously at her partner, "do we, Alastor?"

"Not at all," he hastened to agree.

"Miss Granger, please look into my eyes," the Unspeakable directed, touching their wand to their temple. After about half a minute, they broke eye contact, and the Unspeakable pulled the wand away from their head, drawing with it a long, silvery stream of cloudstuff, which they dropped into the bowl.

"Wow," Hermione said, blinking. "That's weird. I still **remember** the attack, but it's like it's muted."

"That's the sense of magic missing," the Unspeakable clarified. "Your memory was of six primary sensory inputs, but we've since extracted one and now you only remember five."

"How do I learn to distinguish my magic sense from the rest?" she asked.

"That's the foundation of the discipline called Occlumency," the Unspeakable answered. "It's the basis for most subtler magics. Now if you'll all touch your fingers to the surface of the bowl, we'll review the memory."

"Will it work for us?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Certainly," Protas answered.

Hermione, Moody, Bones, Mr. Granger, the solicitor, and the unspeakable all touched the surface of the pensieve and were drawn into Hermione's memory of the attack.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The response to this story has been really exciting for only a single setup chapter; you guys are amazing and I hope to be worth it. It's still in the set-up phase here, but I'm getting into the good stuff - there just aren't enough proper adventure stories around.

This chapter was was the starting point for the entire fic. I got an image of Hermione and Ginny taking cover behind an earthen berm, exchanging fire with masked wizards, and cussing out Harry for being late while Bonnie Tyler's 'Holding Out For a Hero' (one of my all time favorite songs) played at concert volume.

I'm shooting for a weekly update schedule on this, but if I get far enough ahead, I'll shorten that interval.

1\. Clothing designed for martial arts, acrobatics, and stuntmen is cut differently than typical day wear, to accommodate a broader range of motion without pulling or binding. Harry's shirt is cut this way, and Dr. Granger recognizes the difference.  
2\. I'm treating Hogwarts the Castle and Hogwarts the School as separate entities in this tale. Thus, the castle was built over 1500 years ago, but the school was founded about a thousand years ago.

I'm still seeking an editor/proofreader. If you or someone you know is willing to do so and has a good grasp of the English language, please contact me via PM.


	3. Investigation

**Chapter Soundtrack:** Yuki Kajiura's 'Credens Justitiam'.

* * *

 **Tuesday, 01 August 1995 - London, England - St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Hermione looked about in wonder as she was drawn into her own memory. _This is amazing!_ she gushed. _Magic is so exciting!_ She could see and hear everything as though she were there again… experimentation proved the memory intangible, though, and there were no scents save dust.

Her parents were quite impressed, as well. "Wizards have done some amazing things, haven't they?" her mother noted.

"The pensieve," Unspeakable Protas lectured, "is a marvel of engineering, mathematics, and enchanting comparable in intricacy to the Americans' moon lander."

"I believe it," Mr. Granger agreed. "How is it that we can use it? I would expect it to require open gates."

"A 'closed' gate isn't truly closed," the unspeakable pointed out, "but rather has a tightly constricted throughput. What you're sensing as muggles is messier than what we're sensing as wizards, but it's enough for you to observe. In muggle terms, you're getting the CCTV version, we're getting the IMAX version."

Mr. Granger nodded his understanding.

"Freeze here," Amelia insisted. The unspeakable obliged, and Bones and Moody began a close inspection of the surroundings. "Miss Granger, you began evading before any magic was used," Amelia frowned. "Can you tell us why?"

Hermione shrugged and shook her head, looking puzzled. "I… no. I've no idea why I thought we needed to move then. I just did."

"Latent precognition, I expect," suggested Moody.

"Can you check for that?" Amelia asked Protas. The unspeakable shook their head.

"No," they answered. "There's no reliable way to determine latent talents."

Amelia nodded, "Resume."

The memory continued, showing the viewers the heavy assault on the two girls. Amelia recorded all the spells she could see while Moody praised Hermione's shield charm. When the berm was raised, Amelia froze the memory again. "All right, what do we know so far?"

"The attackers are all kids. A juvenile gang," answered Moody.

"Elaborate," Amelia prompted.

"Spell selection and power," Moody explained. "That's a Reductor Curse," he gestured at a gouged tree, "but a pretty soft one. It's also the only actual curse that's been cast. All the other spells have been hexes or jinxes, and they're not very powerful either. They've been using exploding hexes, brush cutters, and piercers, nothing very difficult to cast.

"Everything's direct fire spellwork, too. No battlefield manipulation or transfiguration. No mental or elemental magic. They're just standing there throwing schoolyard spells. The blasting curses especially are a completely asinine choice for this because they're impossible to aim precisely. That," Moody gestured at the berm that had been raised to protect the girls, "is the first piece of transfiguration used in the fight, and it was done by the new guy.

"Plus we arrested that kid," Moody concluded. Amelia nodded once.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

"I'm sorry, we can't tell you," Amelia said kindly. "We're obliged to protect their privacy as they're not yet of age." Hermione's moue of disappointment challenged Amelia's determination, but she dropped the subject. The aurors ushered the others away from where the two memory girls were. Hermione realized that they were approaching their rescuer, the man who called himself Ghost.

"How is he here? I didn't notice him before," she asked.

"Not necessarily with your conscious senses," Protas agreed. "But you did with your magic. Our magic senses are like a much more precise version of hearing, picking up magic in all directions for a short distance; yours looks to be about fifty meters. See how he's more vivid than the trees? It's because he's got much more magic, so you picked up the details much better."

"I thought he was taller," Hermione mused.

The potted spray of begonias was on the ground by his left foot, one wand outstretched towards the memory of Hermione and Ginny. In the memory, it was obvious that their rescuer was surprisingly short, his crown barely reaching Hermione's lips.

"Height, between 155 and 160 centimeters," provided the unspeakable. "Mass, 48 to 54 kilograms. So between 5'1" and 5'3" and 106 to 119 pounds for you philistines. Wearing half-boots, dark grey trousers with knee and ankle pockets, dark-grey hooded half-robe-"

"That's an armored half-robe," Moody pointed out. "He came ready for combat."

"Or he's a student of yours," sniped Amelia. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"You're not too old for me to tan your hide, missy," warned Moody.

"Flirt later," chided the unspeakable. "That's a shadow identity charm on that robe. That charm is restricted; you might be able to trace it. Black jumper, belt with four pouches. Some kind of obscuring magic on the pouches. Sword on each hip. Those are… that's adamantium."

Moody snorted, "Pull the other one, it's got bells on." The unspeakable shook their head violently.

"I'm serious. Those are bona-fide adamantium arming swords. Enchanted in some way, but I can't tell how from the memory."

Amelia whistled low. "Well, that's a lead."

"I should say so," Moody confirmed.

"Adamantium is really rare," Hermione explained to her curious mother, "and almost impossible to enchant. They should be able to identify those swords and then the owner." Mr. Granger nodded his understanding as the unspeakable continued.

"Wand, hemlock and dragon heartstring with a secondary core of demiguise hair. Not registered in Britain." Both aurors frowned at that. "That's all I can get," finished Protas. Moody nodded and the playback resumed. Immediately the stranger faded to grey translucence and blurred into motion, reappearing crouched over the two girls.

"Ghost step," growled Moody. "Haven't seen that since Grindelwald's war." The watchers repositioned themselves near the girls, watching as Ghost checked the girls and then cast that spell. Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose at the appearance of the blade.

"Really?" she asked the sky. The unspeakable froze the memory again and circled the stranger.

"This is a **very** neat bit of magic," they opined. "It creates a looping, one-dimensional wizardspace anchored one millimeter and one-thousand and one millimeters from the tip of the wand, then wraps… seven shield charms shaped into cutting edges around it and spins the whole thing like a drill.

"The wizardspace accepts the secondary spell, here a stunner, and sustains it in an infinite loop… until interrupted by a solid object, probably, since it is a lightsaber spell. I'm impressed."

Moody grunted, and Amelia just stared at Protas incredulously. "Impressed?" she demanded. "It's a terribly cheesy idea."

"I think it's pretty cool," Protas argued defensively. "And it's an impressive bit of magic besides. I know Flitwick over at Hogwarts has been trying to create one since the first movie came out in 1977. I don't think he ever thought to use a wizardspace as an anchor, though. I'll have to owl him."

"It's another useful lead, Bonesy," Moody soothed. "That level of spell development ain't exactly common. Even if he didn't craft the spell himself, whoever did will know who they taught it to."

Amelia huffed with vexation and nodded, signalling the unspeakable to resume the memory. They watched as the man leapt from cover and into the open. "Almost two meters vertical clearance," the unspeakable observed. "Over five meters horizontal distance." They watched as the man sprinted towards the pair that had crossed the river and were moving to flank the two girls. Hermione wondered if there was a way to moderate the loss of fidelity as they got farther away from her memory-self, and whether it would be a Runes problem or an Arithmancy problem. She made a mental note to ask Professor Dumbledore about it.

"Impressive speed," Moody admitted, watching as the blades whirled and flashed, intercepting five spells and deflecting them as he moved. "Showing off, though. None of those spells he blocked were on target enough to threaten him."

"An intimidation tactic," Mr. Granger suggested. "Trying to make them back off."

"Hng," Moody acknowledged. The girls' rescuer was between the two flankers now, blades shining as his panicky opponents tried to open the distance. The two blades flared as they intercepted another trio of spells. He stepped towards the smaller of his two opponents, catching one last spell with the blade in his left hand as the one in his right lashed out, scoring a hit on the enemy's leg.

All the observers watched with interest as the red light in the blade blazed a bit brighter before the figure struck collapsed. "Stunner," Moody clucked his tongue. "Amateur hour." With the stunner discharged, the blade changed from vibrant red to a translucent white, before fading completely as the man's wand spat four streaks of purple light followed by a web of rope and another crimson stunner.

"I take it back," Moody looked impressed. "That's a good keep-em-down sequence, bone breakers to the wrists and ankles and a binding hex."

"Brutal," Mrs. Granger observed, radiating disapproval.

"Not as much as it seems," Amelia corrected her. "Bone breakers are hexes, not curses, so the wounds don't resist healing. With limb strikes, any competent medic will have them right as rain in less than an hour."

"Aurors and Hit Wizards are taught to use bone breakers when there are more than two targets," Moody confirmed. "It's incapacitating without being permanently damaging so long as magical medical attention is available. We're taught to go for the shoulders and hips though."

"He's teamwork trained," interjected Mr. Granger as a ripple in the air hissed past the rescuer's blade and struck his side. The half-robe flayed open and began to darken with slowly spreading blood. "He noticed that, did you see how he shifted? But he expected his partner to be covering their sector and moved a little too late."

"That was a bit of Black Magic, too," Amelia pointed out. "There it is again. The Flaying Edge Curse, a Death Eater favorite." The second of the two flanking opponents was backpedalling frantically, slashing their wand in uncontrolled, wild arcs. Another ripple leapt from the enemy's wand towards the rescuer, this one intercepted by the glowing blade. A twirl of the rescuer's wand conjured another blade as he dashed towards his attacker.

"That's interesting," Protas murmured.

"What?" Amelia demanded. The memory froze, and then backed up, leaving the group slightly dizzied.

"Watch the blade he uses to deflect the second curse," the unspeakable directed, playing the memory in slow motion. They watched closely as the weapon crossed the stranger's body from right to left, intercepting the ripple and deflecting it to the side. "It changes color after catching the curse." The Gryffindor crimson of the stunner had darkened to a blood red.

"Some interaction with Black Magic?" the unspeakable wondered. "I don't think anyone's researched the effects of Black Magic on the nature of a shield before…"

They watched Ghost fade to grey translucence just out of blade range of his target as the memory resumed. He blurred right through his foe to rematerialize behind them, a reverse thrust piercing his opponent's back, drilling a neat hole through robe, skin, flesh and kidney. The stunner bound in the blade discharged with a bright flare as the injured assailant collapsed into unconsciousness.

"Dangerous," remarked Amelia. "A couple inches off and we'd be issuing an arrest warrant for manslaughter."

"He's got excellent control," Moody countered. "Incredible spatial and situational awareness. Knows exactly where he is, where his opponent is, and where his sword is."

"Showing off, still," Hermione's father noted. "Not the Ghost Step, but with that weapon a smack to the shoulder or leg would have been just as incapacitating." Everyone watched with interest as Ghost cancelled the lightsaber spells and crouched.

His hand was nearly a blur as it snapped out, flinging a small object towards the river as he leapt. "Freeze!" Amelia ordered. The unspeakable obligingly froze the memory. "Back it up, we need to see what that was." It proved to be a small, aerodynamically stable, ceramic knife.

"That was a conjuration," Protas supplied.

"Resume the memory," Amelia ordered. The memory continued, and distantly they could hear a shout of ' _Avada Kedavra_!'

"That's what triggered the DMLE alarm," Moody pointed out. They tracked the small blade until it intercepted the acid green of the killing curse.

"That was definitely precognition," noted Protas. "The knife was thrown before the spell was even cast." Amelia was watching something else, though.

"Back it up again," she ordered. "Watch his leap."

The memory replayed again, and they focused on Ghost as he crouched, flung the blade, and sprang into the air. Hermione gasped. "That's not a ballistic arc."

"U-unsupported flight," stammered Amelia. "That's..." Words failed her as they watched the man arc through the air. He conjured a half-dozen more of those small knives, flinging them to intercept another flurry of spells.

"He's not trying for total awe," Mr. Granger said. "That's not a ballistic arc, but it's not obviously flight, either."

Hermione was watching closely, "His aim's not as good as it looks, either. He's using some sort of telekinesis to adjust the path of those knives. Why's he intercepting those spells at all, though? They won't hit him."

"Those two subjects he just put down," Moody answered. "Some of those misses could have done some serious damage to those two. And… there!" Moody crowed as one of the thrown knives intercepted another spell, obscuring a second almost immediately behind it that slammed into the foot of one attacker, evoking a sudden cry. "Brilliant! I like this guy. He had 'em thinking that those throws were defensive, then bam!"

"Alastor, we do not cheer violence against children," Amelia scolded, "even if they do deserve it," she added under her breath, watching as the man landed on the far side of the river. He Ghost Stepped a third time, materializing between the three assailants.

"Why not apparate?" Protas wondered.

"Same reason Aurors and Hit Wizards don't," Moody responded. "Your partner doesn't know where you'll land if you're apparating. He'll never use apparation to move into combat, only retreat." (1)

A sweep of his arm divested one of their wand, followed by a grab and twist. The sharp, muffled crackle had Amelia, Moody, and Mr. Granger wincing in sympathy, recognizing the sound of separating joints. A sideways step took him out of the path of another spell, and into arm's reach of the enemy whose foot he'd pinned.

A rabbit punch hammered the inside of their wrist, sending their wand flying and making Moody wince. "He pumped a whole lot of magic into that hit. They'll be feeling that for days." Ghost's opponent dropped, twitching uncontrollably.

"More importantly," Amelia scowled, "why didn't the crime scene unit recover that wand?"

Ghost's wand snapped into his hand, tip glowing viridian as he flicked it up, deflecting a blasting curse away and countering with a slicing hex that took the last attacker's wand hand off at the wrist.

"That's the first time he's done anything like traditional magical combat," Moody noted, "aside from the earth barrier at the beginning."

The shrill scream of the dismembered attacker made all the memory walkers wince, and Amelia caught a panicked voice cry, "Fly, you fools!" All save the assailant who'd lost his arm vanished in the swirling pale blue light of a portkey… as did the last one's severed hand.

"Bugger," Amelia swore.

"You already knew they'd escaped," Mr. Granger reminded her, as they watched Ghost wrap a tourniquet around the stump of the remaining attacker and weave an illusion over his injury before approaching the girls in the memory.

"It's not that," she shook her head. "It's that they were all injured. Everything he did to them was easily reversible… but the portkeys will have aggravated those injuries tremendously. We could even have reattached that young man's hand - that's probably the reason Ghost used a Slicing Hex rather than something else - if we still had the hand.

"It's entirely possible that the one he put down with the kidney strike is dead, and the one whose arm he took apart may never use it again. The young man we apprehended will almost certainly be using a prosthesis now. Stupid, stupid fools!" she cried.

 **01 August 1995 - British Ministry Of Magic - Head Auror's Office**

Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, exited the pensieve that still held Hermione Granger's memory of the attack and the intervention of Ghost. Amelia Bones and Alastor Moody were sitting in the visitor's chairs opposite him, gossiping about Moody's former apprentice.

"Conclusions," Scrimgeour demanded.

"He's a warlock," Moody stated baldly. Scrimgeour gestured 'give me more'. "Wizards can Ghost Step, but it takes almost twenty seconds for the most capable wizard I know to cast the spell. It's almost a ritual, rather than a spell. Add in definite precognition, unsupported flight, wandless conjuration, and his physical capabilities. Definitely a warlock."

"Is that something we have to respond to?" Rufus asked.

"It's not illegal to be a warlock," Amelia noted. "It's mostly illegal to teach or perform the Kindling ritual."

"Mostly illegal?" Moody asked.

"If you're related within three generations to the head of a Great House, it's not," Amelia clarified.

Rufus made a note. "What else?"

"He fought soft," Moody noted. "If he were MLE, I'd be dressing him down for fighting stupid. He kept things on the same level as the punks attacking, same kind of spellwork and such."

"How's the case coming?"

Amelia began briefing him. "Gregory Jones Goyle was arrested at the scene and immediately evacuated to St. Mungo's Secure Wing. He's being kept under sedation at the moment. The healers have his arm in stasis and hope to recover his hand before it dies.

"They're going to keep him under until we either recover the missing hand or too much time has passed for it to be recoverable. We issued a press release today that no attempt will be made to apprehend anyone returning the missing limb to the DMLE or St. Mungo's."

"Miss Granger and Miss Weasley have been released into the custody of their guardians," Moody continued. "We've requested that they stay available until they've given an official deposition. No charges will be filed, as WPS (2) has determined that both girls are in the clear under legal exemptions to any laws they've infringed, including the SoS.

"And on that subject, there actually weren't any muggle witnesses," he went on. "So we're totally clear on the Statute. The Weasley chit's technically guilty of vandalism with that fire spell, but that's Lovegood land and Xeno declined to make an issue of it."

Scrimgeour leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, hands folded over his stomach. "All right. Brief me again after the Goyle kid's been interviewed. Put an APB out on this Ghost character, but do not attempt to apprehend him. If you get a hit, **ask** him to consent to an interview.

"Now get back to work."

 **01 August 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home**

Hermione had been petulant, to the amusement of her parents, since being released from the hospital. She wanted to know what her father's promised good news was, but the two dentists had conspired against her. She would not learn the news until she got home.

Well then they should head home immediately!

Her parents disagreed. They were in London anyway; they would run errands. They especially owed Ms. Jennings a thank-you favor for delivering the Range Rover so late last night. Hermione exercised all her persuasive skill to, if not cut the trip shorter - they did have legitimate needs to attend to in London - attend to those errands as expeditiously as possible. When it came time to dine, Richard Granger watched with amusement as his daughter begged, bribed, and bullied her mother into eschewing a restaurant in favor of the street vendors.

When they eventually pulled onto the A23 South, Hermione thought it might be soon enough to learn the news they were teasing her with.

Helen suggested that patience was a virtue.

Hermione retorted that virtuosity was much more important than virtue.

Richard suggested that if she wasn't virtuous any longer, he should definitely meet the cause. He nearly crashed when, instead of blushing and stammering, Hermione offered him her hand instead, saying "Daddy, meet my fingers."

Helen couldn't stop giggling for a quarter hour, while Hermione cheered at finally trumping her father in a duel of innuendo.

When they pulled off the motorway for petrol, Hermione was certain that her father was tormenting her and said so.

Her mother pointed out that if that were the case, he'd be paying at the kiosk, not the pump (3).

It was early evening by the time the Grangers arrived at their home. Hermione darted out of the car and into the house. Her path took her to the family room, where she would await her parents. As much as she hated languishing in ignorance, her parents had some rules that were flexible, and some which were not. Matters of import would never be discussed in the entry hall.

Hermione froze completely on stepping into the family room. There was someone already there! It was a young man, well dressed in crisp business attire, seated on her parents' sofa with a small array of texts and notebooks in front of him. She barely noticed as he looked up and smiled in greeting.

Hermione couldn't ever mistake those clear green eyes - though those square-cut, gold-framed glasses were new - or that dark, unruly hair, or that lightning scar that he wasn't trying so desperately to hide any longer.

"H-Harry!?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In the original draft of this story, Hermione had basically absentee parents. I've no idea what happened.

1\. I know that the canonical spelling is 'apparition', but that's a real English word, too. Since they apparate and disapparate, I've chosen to spell it 'apparation' to distinguish the wizarding form of teleportation from a ghost.  
2\. The Wizengamot Prosecution Service, the magical equivalent of the Crown Prosecution Service.  
3\. I had to look it up, but 'Pay at the Pump' was first deployed in Europe in 1982, and in the US four years later. American readers my age will probably still remember heavy marketing campaigns for the service being run as late as 2000.

This fic and chapter are vastly improved by Meneldur's proofreading and commentary. They deserve as much recognition as I do.


	4. Homecoming

**Chapter Soundtrack:** 'Magnificat Anima Mea' by John Rutter. I personally prefer the London Sinfonia/Cambridge Singers version: It's a beautiful celebratory work.

* * *

 _Last Time…_

 _Hermione froze completely on stepping into the family room. There was someone already there! It was a young man, well dressed in crisp business attire, seated on her parents' sofa with a small array of texts and notebooks in front of him. She barely noticed as he looked up and smiled in greeting._

 _Hermione couldn't ever mistake those clear green eyes - though those square-cut, gold-framed glasses were new - or that dark, unruly hair, or that lightning scar that he wasn't trying so desperately to hide any longer._

 _"H-Harry!?"_

 **Tuesday, 01 August 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home**

Her incredulity was met with a smile. More gracefully than she had seen him move before, Harry rose from the seat and stepped to the side. Hermione darted forward, crossing the room at a sprint, and wrapped her friend in a clinging hug.

The analytical section of her mind was impressed at how sturdy he was; she had unthinkingly hit him with her full weight, and all he'd done was put a foot back and braced himself. Tears of relief escaped her eyes and spotted his shirt as they held each other. She clung tighter at the comforting hand that gently stroked her hair.

"Hey," he whispered. "I missed you."

"Harry," she repeated, giving him another ferocious hug. "You're really here."

"I'm really here," he confirmed. "No apparition, no seeming. It's me."

"Harry," she repeated again, in a much quieter tone. Harry felt the need to take a step back, but Hermione still had a tight hold on him and wasn't letting go. Her words were just short of a growl as she continued, "Where. Have. You. BEEN!?" She jumped, startled at herself for shouting that last word.

"Hermione! A little decorum, please," her mother chided. "And perhaps an introduction?" she hinted.

Hermione was a capable, creative, and intelligent witch. She wielded magic with enough elan to frighten a Death Eater. Her sorting had been the longest of her year, with the hat vacillating between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She had been given the personal attention of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Headmaster Dumbledore. At fifteen years of age she had twice been given co-author's credits in peer reviewed publications, beside Albus Dumbledore and Filius Flitwick.

She thought it vastly unfair that with a raised eyebrow and a few gentle words her mother could make her flush red and stammer. "O-of course," she squeaked, stepping back from Harry and composing herself.

"Harry, meet my father, Doctor Richard Alan Granger, Companion of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, and my mother, Doctor Dame Helen Margaret Granger, Dame Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire." Harry gave the Grangers an elegant, but shallow bow, prompting Hermione to raise her eyebrows in interest. _Wherever he was, he learned formal manners_ , she thought.

"Mum, daddy, meet my best friend and classmate My Lord Harry James Potter, Magister Potter," she concluded, narrowing her eyes. "But you already knew that, or he wouldn't have been waiting for us **in the house**." Richard gave a nervous little cough.

"Actually, your mother hasn't met him yet," he admitted. "I did yesterday evening, and he sent us a note at the motel in London where we overnighted. I invited him to wait for us here." Helen rescued her husband from Hermione's ire by ushering everyone into seats. She sat Harry and Hermione on the davenport, and her husband in an easy chair.

"I'll just fix some tea, shall I?" she suggested. "I'm sure Lord Potter has a story we'd **all** like to hear," she emphasized, fixing Hermione with a stare.

"Of course, mum," Hermione relented. "No interrogations without tea."

"I'd really prefer that you call me 'Harry', ma'am, or 'Potter' if that's too informal," Harry requested. "Being called 'Lord Potter' by my best friend's parents feels too elitist."

"As you wish," Richard smiled agreeably.

"Thank you," Harry sighed in relief. "Now, Hermione, I'm sorry you ended up worried for me." He squeezed her hand earnestly. "We - by which I mean Susan, Neville, Daphne, and me - really thought that everyone had been notified of our absence. I actually have about two hundred letters for you that never got delivered," he grinned. Hermione pursed her lips in irritation as her mother poured out tea.

"Explain, please, Harry," Hermione smiled sweetly. Harry wasn't fooled by her quiet gentility; that was a demand that promised pain if not met immediately.

"The short answer is that I was in Avalon being trained to take headship of a Hogwarts house," Harry told her. "The much, much longer answer begins near the end of the sixth century, with the fall of Camelot."

 **01 August 1995 - Lindisfarne, Northumberland - Longbottom Hall**

"Camelot," Augusta Longbottom repeated numbly.

Neville had greeted her less than an hour before, and she hadn't recognised her grandson at first. Since she had last seen him he had grown remarkably. He was now taller than she was with her hat on, and where he had been pudgy had become solidly muscled. His face had lengthened and broadened, he was now square-jawed with crisp lines and ruggedly handsome. She thought if he traded his robes for furs and mail he'd fit right in with his ancestors, whom legend said carried the blood of the jötnar.

She was proud of him, she was so very proud of him. He'd grown into a greater man than she had ever believed he would be, and he had met the anger that followed her clingy relief with a calmness that boded well, accepting the anger while denying any attempt to discipline him. He had grown so very well.

"Camelot," he repeated after her with a smile. "After Arthur's death, Guinevere held the kingdom together, but after her death it all started to fall apart. As Britannia collapsed into a collection of warring states, Merlin returned to Avalon, where Morgana held her throne. Not wanting to get involved in the burgeoning fractiousness, the two of them together worked a fantastic magic that took Avalon outside of time. Outside of reality.

"But Avalon is a tiny little country with a small population. Neither Merlin nor Morgana wanted to completely separate from the world; they knew that would lead to stagnation of both their society and their gene pools. So they left Avalon tethered to reality in seven places."

 **01 August 1995 - Arundel, West Sussex - Bountiful Fields**

"I'd wager…" Magister Greengrass pursed his lips thoughtfully, "the crystal cave at Tintagel, the Tower in London, Merlin's Bridge, and Camelot itself."

Daphne Greengrass smiled at her father. Neither tall nor short, she was a comfortable middling height, and while she wasn't large, she proudly proclaimed she wasn't stick-thin either. Rather, she was fit, with just enough of a figure to put her on the 'feminine' side of 'androgynous'. She considered her body attractive but unremarkable. She was beautiful, though, with an oval face, sweeping cheekbones, kissable lips and lovely teeth, all seemingly designed for the express purpose of setting off her sky blue, Ruthenian eyes.

Daphne had expected the clinging hug she'd gotten from her sister and the gentle scolding from her mother, but she'd been shocked when her father had hugged her with the same ferocity as her sister. Perhaps it was his age - Ladon Greengrass set a medical record when he sired her - but her father had never been tactile in his affection. When he took her in his arms on her return was the first time he had done so that she could remember.

The discussion had been delayed long enough for her father to recover his dignity and the entire family to have tea, but now Daphne was explaining her absence.

"Very good, father," she praised. "Four of seven correct, none incorrect. The other three are the Mount at Snowdon, the Rock of Cashel, and Branwen's Font."

"Two locations in England, two in Wales, two in Ireland, and one unknown," Ladon remarked. "That's… not a coincidence."

"No, it's not," Daphne agreed, "and Camelot's in Scotland."

"But the only significant magical site in Scotland is…" her father trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "Oh. Oh, no, no, nonono. You're having me on," he accused.

Daphne grinned impishly, shaking her head in denial, "No, father, I'm not."

 **01 August 1995 - King's Lynn, Norfolk - Knochenhaus**

"Hogwarts is Camelot," Amelia Bones said flatly, staring at her niece in disbelief.

"Well," Susan Bones tapped her chin thoughtfully, "since Camelot hasn't existed for about 1300 years, it would be more precise to say that Hogwarts was once Camelot."

Round-faced, with a slightly pointed chin, large blue eyes, and long brown hair, Susan Bones seemed soft. That impression was reinforced by her figure, with her large bust, wide hips, and slightly plump stomach.

Amelia Bones was Susan's hero and Susan's dearest ambition was to be just like her aunt, so Susan carefully cultivated that impression of softness. It led others to underestimate her skill, her power, and her viciousness.

She hadn't been surprised to be greeted by five different diagnostic spells and three security questions; Alastor Moody was one of her aunt's oldest friends. But with her identity confirmed, she had been surprised to witness Amelia give free rein to her emotions, hugging Susan tightly and letting tears of relief fall free. Susan was touched by the gesture of trust.

If their discussion afterwards resembled an interrogation more than anything else, Susan's only real reaction was to make notes on her aunt's technique.

"When Merlin learned of four friends who wanted to found a school for magic, he travelled from Avalon and met with them," Susan explained. "The Founders impressed him, and so he offered to host their school at Camelot and helped them convert the castle. In exchange, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be Avalon's window into reality."

"And source of fresh genetic material?" suggested Amelia.

"Well, yes," Susan blushed. "Though always voluntarily," she hastened to add.

"I **am** familiar with the behavior of the teenaged human male, young lady," Amelia commented dryly. "Now tell me why I didn't know anything about this until today."

"Because in the early fourteenth century Hogwarts' entire administrative structure was shattered," answered Susan.

 **01 August 1995 - Granger Home**

"The Sundering," Hermione whispered.

"The Sundering," confirmed Harry. "An ambitious but unscrupulous wizard sought to control the future of Britannia through her magical children, and insinuated himself into Hogwarts. His name has been thoroughly struck from history, although a few can still name his family: the House MacBethad.

"This wizard spent three years at Hogwarts teaching beginner potions and beginner combat magic and was, by all accounts, a skilled wizard and able teacher. No one really knows how, but one night he slew the headmaster and all four heads of house, leaving the four heirs to take the blame.

"The next morning, he 'discovered' the heirs had 'committed a terrible crime' and slew them all 'in righteous anger'."

Richard Granger interrupted, "Wait, wait just a moment. I've heard this story. You're having fun with us, right?"

"Well, daddy," Hermione answered, "A certain Elizabethan playwright **may** have taken the broad strokes of history, changed a few names, adjusted a few details-"

"-and turned the whole lot into a very famous play, yes," finished Harry (1).

The elder Grangers sat stunned for a short time, before Helen ventured, "In the balance, I suppose it's no less believable than the existence of magic at all."

Hermione dug her elbow into Harry's side, prompting a muted yelp. "Harry's superpower is turning worldviews on their ears. But he's good at that already; right now he should be practicing his storytelling," she growled.

"Yes dear," he agreed absently, rubbing at his side. "So the MacBethad took Hogwarts by force, holding the students hostage against the behavior of their parents. Eventually, Victoire Malfoy led the students in a countercoup and MacBethad was conquered.

"But because MacBethad was a usurper, Hogwarts' secrets were denied to him. Unfortunately he was thorough enough that all those who did hold those secrets were lost."

"So you're to restore the legacy of the past?" asked Helen skeptically.

"No," Harry shook his head, "our job is to make sure Hogwarts functions smoothly and that relations with Avalon are less…" Harry tapped his chin, pursing his lips as he tried to pick the right word for the situation. "Disjointed," he decided. "Less disjointed than they have been. With an eventual eye to reintegrating Avalon with the rest of Britain."

"The timing seems strange to me, Harry," Hermione frowned. "It's been almost seven hundred years since the Sundering, and things are only happening now."

"Ah, there's two reasons for that. First, because time in Avalon is weird. Sec-"

"Weird how, Harry?" Hermione interrupted. Harry rubbed the back of his neck and frowned.

"I don't understand it, so it's hard to explain. You should probably ask Daphne, it makes at least some kind of sense to her. But basically time in our world doesn't match up to time in Avalon. So it's been almost seven hundred years for us but only about a century over there."

"Why's that so hard to explain?" Hermione asked.

"Er, because I'm four years older now than I was when I left?" he ventured. Hermione winced and rubbed her temples.

"That doesn't make sense," she moaned.

"I said I didn't really understand," Harry said defensively. "I can read, solve, and create spell matrices, and I can analyze and break enchantments and wards, but that kind of arithmancy is beyond me. Really, you should ask Daphne when you see her, she can sort of explain it."

"Right," Richard dragged the conversation back on track. "You said there was another reason beyond that, Potter."

"Oh yeah. The second reason is that the requirements we had to meet were quite stringent. It took a long time for a match to show up."

"Really?" Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "What were they?"

"Ah," Harry stammered. "I think I remember them all, now…" he started counting on his fingers. "First, there had to be four candidates in the same cohort, each of whom had to have a fairly high minimum amount of magical power. The candidates had to be house-, gender-, and element-balanced. Each candidate had to be in direct-line descent from the Head of a Great House. And each candidate had to be willing to put the school's welfare above that of themselves and their families."

"You four aren't house-balanced, though," Hermione protested. "You and Neville are both Gryffindor."

"Ah…" Harry looked away and blushed pink. "I should have been a Slytherin but really wanted to be away from Malfoy," he mumbled.

Hermione looked aghast. "But… Slytherins are awful," she protested. "You're far too nice for Slytherin. And Slytherin was the original blood purist!"

"Only a small subset of Slytherins are actually awful," Harry argued. "And there are some in every house, really: look at McLaggen. The awful Slytherins are just the loudest.

"And do you remember what Binns actually said about Slytherin when you asked about the Chamber of Secrets?" he challenged.

Hermione closed her eyes and thought back. "'Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts,'" she recited. "'He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy.'" (2)

"Untrustworthy," Harry emphasized. "Not inferior. I did a lot of research when I found out I'd be Lord Slytherin, and Avalon's national archives still hold a lot of correspondence from the Founders. Salazar Slytherin believed that muggle families would either exploit or harm their children when they learned about magic. He had a fair amount of anecdotal evidence to support his position, too."

"Anecdotal evidence isn't really useful to defend a position," Helen pointed out.

Harry nodded in agreement, "Which is one of the reasons that Salazar lost that particular debate."

"Okay," Hermione said. "I think I can accept that. But if you should have been a Slytherin, why were you sorted into Gryffindor?"

"The Sorting Hat must consider more than just personality," Helen reasoned.

"It put me in Gryffindor when I asked not to be in Slytherin," Harry confirmed. The tea long since consumed, a comfortable silence descended as the four of them reflected on their discussion.

"So what's next for you and your friends, Harry?" Richard asked.

"I send a letter to Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said. "We need to explain all this and make plans."

"Getting the headmaster onside will be essential," Hermione observed.

"Not precisely essential," Harry contradicted her, "but it will make everything much easier."

"Is a letter really the right format for that, though?" Helen asked them.

"No, which is why the letter is just a request for him to meet with me, Neville, Daphne and Susan. Like She-Of-The-Pointy-Elbows," Harry grunted as Hermione retaliated by grinding her elbow into his side again, "he's sure to have about a thousand questions; an epistolary back and forth would hardly be efficient."

"Where are you sleeping, Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"I have a room reserved at the Leaky until Saturday," Harry reassured her. "After that, we'll probably move into Hogwarts. That's where our responsibilities are."

Richard rose to his feet and handed his wife to her feet as well, "Thank you for taking the time to tell us all this, Harry, but we're for bed now."

"Don't stay up too late, Hermione," her mother admonished.

Harry had risen to his feet as the Grangers did, but once they departed he and Hermione cuddled back up on the davenport. "Tell me about Avalon, Harry. Tell me about the people. Tell me about the sky. Tell me… oh, everything."

The two best friends talked long into the night, until Hermione's yawns became too intrusive to ignore. Harry ushered her up to her bedroom and kissed her cheek. "Hermione, will you do me a big favor?"

"Ask," she told him.

"Will you tell the Weasleys what happened?" he asked. "I'll talk to them when I can, but there are a **lot** of things that have to be done before school starts, and not a lot of time to do them in."

Hermione smiled and kissed his cheek, "I will, Harry. Good night."

"Good night, Hermione. Dream sweet dreams."

Hermione vanished into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Harry stared after her for a moment, then turned on his heel, vanishing with a muffled crack.

 **01 August 1995 - Bountiful Fields**

"Tell me how you expect this to affect the political landscape," Ladon Greengrass ordered his daughter. Daphne's posture, though quite good, lost the subtle air of relaxation as she considered her father's directive.

"Initially, not much," she began. "Five seats will be filled in the House: Emrys, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"Emrys?" Lady Greengrass raised an eyebrow. "How is that?"

"In the absence of a Head of House Emrys, the Emrys regency is held by the Headmaster of Hogwarts. So Dumbledore will take a seat."

Ladon stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That could be useful. For all his eccentricity, Albus tends to have a sane head on his shoulders, if a bit uncompromising."

"Uncompromising?" Daphne echoed, mirroring her mother's expression as her eyebrow rose.

Lord Greengrass nodded decisively. "Headmaster Dumbledore is a bit soft, and perhaps too forgiving of youthful shenanigans, but that's with children and students. Albus Dumbledore in the adult and political realm is an entirely different beast. He's strictly moral, and disinclined to suffer even a small evil. It can make him difficult to work with, but he's at least predictable."

Daphne was mildly incredulous, but moved on. "Gryffindor is held by Neville Longbottom. He's a bit soft-hearted and tends to be unsure of himself. Outside of his areas of expertise, he can be overwhelmed with a forceful enough approach. His political views are tenuously Progressive with a strong Traditionalism bias."

"Like the Dowager Longbottom, then," Ladon mused. "Unsurprising. Hufflepuff?"

"Held by Susan Bones," Daphne answered. "She idolises her aunt, and acts like her in miniature. Expect her to champion justice politically and stringent legalism, and to be impossible to browbeat or intimidate.

"Ravenclaw is me," Daphne continued. "I favor transparency, logic, honesty, and fact-based legislation. Expect to defend your positions with logic if you want my support," she warned. Ladon smiled proudly at her.

"You're an excellent daughter," he praised. "It's a pity you can't remain Lordana Greengrass."

"Wait, why can't she? I don't want to be Lordana," Astoria whined.

Lady Greengrass clucked her tongue with disapproval, "Don't whine, daughter, it's unbecoming. And Daphne can't remain Lordana because one person cannot hold more than one headship, even in trust."

"Since I'll be Lady Ravenclaw tomorrow," Daphne clarified, "I'll be ineligible to become Lady Greengrass, so I'm out of the succession. You're the most obvious candidate for Lordana, but that's up to father."

"She's my first choice," Lord Greengrass confirmed.

Astoria slouched and sulked, "How troublesome."

"Deportment, dear," her mother reminded her.

Astoria rolled her eyes, "May I be excused to mourn my freedom?" She was released and left.

"By process of elimination, Lord Slytherin is Harry Potter," Lord Greengrass noted.

"Yes," Daphne confirmed, "and he's actually the most surprising. Harry Potter, Lord Slytherin is an Separationist."

Her father watched Daphne with sharpened interest. "Is he really? How unexpected. Isn't he muggle-raised?"

"By what he's shared, his former guardians are severely manaphobic (3). He's also noted that, corrected for population, a muggleborn child is eight times more likely to be abused than a pure- or half-blood child," Daphne told him.

"Thank you for giving me your words, daughter," Ladon rose from his seat and gave Daphne a formal bow.

Daphne curtseyed in reply, "Thank you for hearing my words, father. Good night, mother."

 **01 August 1995 - Longbottom Hall**

Augusta took another sip of her tea, nibbling thoughtfully on a lemon biscuit as she looked her grandson up and down again. She was still having difficulty believing the changes in him. He sat corner-square to her, holding his tea, perfectly at ease in his seat and his skin.

"You are more serene than I've ever known you to be," she ventured.

"I thank you for the compliment," he smiled behind his cup. "As a genteel interrogatory gambit, I find it slightly transparent."

"It's ungentlemanly of you to point out your poor grandmother's faults," Augusta huffed. "And as I'm yet unacquainted with this Lordan Neville Longbottom, I still behave as though you were the one I knew."

Deliberately condescending, Neville patted her shoulder. Augusta scowled and smiled at the same time, knocking his hand away. She was thrilled that her grandson was comfortable enough to tease her. Not that she'd ever let him think he could get away with it; her chastisement came in the form of a stinging hex to the back of his hand.

"Weren't you shy before?" she asked him.

"I still am, with strangers or in highly formal situations," he admitted. "But this is me and my gran, taking tea in the family parlor. But I think you were asking about my calm? It's because the dominion of House Longbottom is battle.

"I no longer hold primacy of the Longbottom dominion, so the side effects are much ameliorated."

"I'm sorry," Augusta said quietly, hugging her grandson. "It didn't occur to me that you might hold the primacy. I thought Frank still did."

Neville returned the hug and kissed her on the forehead. "Don't be. Lineage magic has become somewhat taboo under the excessive egalitarianism of the last two centuries. It's one of the reasons Riddle was so successful; he exploited the backlash against that same egalitarianism."

"Now, what did you learn about Lineage Magic during your little sabbatical?"

"Well…" Neville's enthusiasm for the subject was obvious, and his excitement infectious. The two talked long into the night, and unnoticed, rebuilt their relationship as equals.

 **01 August 1995 - Knochenhaus**

"You still haven't told me how this is going to work," Amelia remarked. "You know that one person can only hold one seat and one primacy."

Susan smoothed her skirts and looked directly at her aunt, "It's simple enough. Potter, Bones, and Longbottom have no surviving cadet branches close enough to mount a challenge for stewardship: Potter and I will abdicate in favor of our unborn children, naming regents to hold the seats until that time.

"Longbottom's going to be a mess, but at least it's Neville's mess and not mine. While Neville was Lord Longbottom magically, legally he was still Lordan, with his father Head of House and the Dowager Lady Longbottom regent. The two of them will have to sort their mess out together, not helped at all by the fact that House Longbottom has House Trevennan as a client house.

"Potter is planning to name Hermione Granger his regent-"

"I can't wait to see the reaction to that," Amelia laughed. "An underage muggleborn, regent to a Great House."

Susan snickered, "Yes. And since she's underage, the regent will have a regent; Potter took an absurd amount of enjoyment in that thought. I believe he was planning on offering Granger's regency to Professor McGonagall."

"Really?" Amelia raised her eyebrows. "I would have thought he'd choose Remus Lupin."

Susan shook her head, "Harry feels that Lupin's too passive for the job, and too willing to let public attitudes towards Lycanthropy influence him."

"And Bones?" Amelia prompted.

"I was expecting that you would resume the regency," Susan admitted.

"I would," Amelia said reluctantly, "but I can't."

Susan scowled. "Why not?"

"It's illegal for a Ministerial Director to accept a seat in the House of Magi (4). I'm suspended but I'm still the director of the DMLE."

"You had one before," Susan protested.

"Yes, well, I was Regent Bones before I was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, and it's not illegal for someone holding a seat to accept a Ministerial Directorship," Amelia waved airily. "Blame Byron Crouch for attempting to bring the executive and legislative apparatuses under his direct control in the eighteenth century."

"Ugh…" Susan groaned. "Okay… Finch-Fletchley has the background, and he's not actually in line for anything. I'll do as Harry will, and offer it to him with Professor Sprout being the regent's regent."

"Not Hannah?" Amelia prodded.

"Hannah's the Abbott heiress. Her grandfather's still healthy, but she could still end up Lordana Abbott any time and then I'd have to go through all this again," Susan explained. "Justin Finch-Fletchley is the third son of Baron Finch-Fletchley and now something like sixth in line for the Barony. He's even taken it upon himself to learn the differences between magical and mundane etiquette."

Amelia pursed her lips. "There's one complication you haven't thought of. Or more likely, weren't aware of."

Susan dropped her head into her hands with a groan, "Of course there is. Hit me."

"Harry Potter is Lordan Black."

Susan lifted her head to stare at her aunt in shock. "Well… bollocks."

 **Wednesday, 02 August 1995 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Headmaster's Office**

Albus Dumbledore had too many names and too many titles. Being formally announced took almost two minutes. His legal signature was four lines long! He felt it was all quite ridiculous, but people kept burdening him with more: more titles, more responsibilities. _It's a wonder I haven't cracked,_ he told himself, _but if I had cracked, would I know it?_

Many others certainly thought he had cracked. Albus hadn't been so unpopular since he had first declined to serve as Champion to the Allied Magical Forces in 1942. He had been dismissed by the Wizengamot, he had been withdrawn as the British representative to the International Confederation of Wizards, and he had been suspended as Supreme Mugwump of the same 'pending review of his recent actions'. He was surprisingly pleased by these developments; now he had much more time to devote to Hogwarts. _Should my star wax again, I shall have to decline such appointments._

This morning he was dealing with, again, his perennial plague: the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship. Every applicant thus far was entirely unsuitable for one reason or another, and Dumbledore feared he was going to be saddled with a Ministerial stooge. _With my luck, Fudge will send me Percy Weasley,_ he grumbled to himself. A sharp bark drew his attention from the paperwork and to the visiting owl perch. Coolly watching him from the perch was a snowy owl, one he thought he recognised. Hope flared in his chest as, with a trembling hand, he reached for the missive borne by the owl.

His eyes flew to the signature block and he let out an explosive sigh of relief. Lowering the letter to his desk, he stood and approached his sideboard, pouring himself a generous measure of gin. He tossed the drink back with ease, poured another measure, and returned to his desk.

 _31 July 1995  
_ _The Leaky Cauldron  
_ _Diagon Alley, London_

 _Headmaster Dumbledore,_

 _Good tidings to you, headmaster. We have learned since our return that our departure has caused a great deal of distress for many people throughout the British Isles. We apologize particularly to you, and convey the apologies of our hosts this past month._

 _Notification of where we would be, what we would be doing, and when we would return was in fact dispatched to you before we left, but we have since discovered that the channels of communication employed had been severed during the Sundering._

 _We have a great deal to discuss with you, and more yet that must be done. To that end, we request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Please reply via Hedwig, as we four are under an owl mail interdict at present._

 _With Fondest Regards,_

 _Neville Francis Longbottom, Lordan Gryffindor  
_ _Susan Amelia Bones, Lordana Hufflepuff  
_ _Daphne Isabella Greengrass, Lordana Ravenclaw  
_ _Harry James Potter, Lordan Slytherin_

Dumbledore read the missive three times before grabbing a fresh piece of parchment and scrawling a response; he would be at their service at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade for the entire next day. Sealing his reply, he passed it to Hedwig, who rubbed her beak against his fingers reassuringly before departing in a feathery flurry.

Dumbledore watched the departure with bemusement, then dashed towards the staircase.

"Minerva! Minerva!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Joyous reunions! And we finally meet all our main characters. And… a boatload of exposition. This chapter's necessary, yes. And it's **almost** the end of the introductory arc. But it's still irritating because talk and talk and talk and there's **more** talk next chapter too.

A shout-out to LeQuin, whose most EXCELLENT story Harry Potter and the Last Chance inspired me to place Bountiful Fields in Arundel.

1\. The playwright in question would be William Shakespeare, and the play MacBeth.  
2\. J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Scholastic Trade paperback printing, p. 150  
3\. There doesn't seem to be a proper 'fear of magic' phobia; possibly because magic is held to be scientifically debunked. So I use the fanon conceit of 'manaphobia'.  
4\. The magical branch of Parliament. It's popular to attribute this role to the Wizengamot, but there's no evidence in the books that the Wizengamot is more than a judiciary.

Meneldur's help, advice, and eagle eyes much improve this chapter and this story. Thank them.


	5. Administration

**Chapter Soundtrack:** Final Fantasy X-2 Soundtrack: Eternity ~Memory of Lightwaves~

* * *

 **Thursday, 03 August 1995 - Hogsmeade, Aberdeenshire - Hog's Head Tavern**

Albus Dumbledore frequently used the Hog's Head Tavern to meet with friends, associates, potential employees, and anyone he was on neutral to fair terms with. Ever the professor, he used his brother's establishment as a lesson.

The public bar on the ground floor had last been cleaned in 1967 and it showed. Albus knew that the floor was made of well-fitted flagstone, but he was one of the few. Most assumed it was dirt. The tables were rough, unfinished, and frequently scarred.

The first floor was no better; a series of private rooms with raw, dirty furnishings: a single chair, a small table, a bedside table, and a twin bed with no linens or pillows, just a dirty mattress.

The lesson was taught by the second floor, where Albus was even now waiting in a small conference room for four of his students… or were they former students? He was seated on one side of a rectangular table, with four chairs arrayed on the opposite side. The room was stunningly clean, well lit, and elegantly appointed. The furniture was all blonde oak, a matched set in Queen Anne style. The sideboard was supplied with simple crystal, and the upholstery in dark colors for contrast.

The lesson, of course, was that appearances can be deceiving. While Aberforth Dumbledore preferred low company, having little patience for the masks and polite lies of gentility, Albus' brother wasn't actually low company himself. His current guests, it seemed, had learned that lesson well before this meeting.

Mister Longbottom had entered the room first, though Albus could see Miss Bones in the hallway beyond, ready to react. Neville looked around the room with obvious approval. "Clever," he praised. "You get a comfortable meeting space in mostly neutral territory, and no one thinks to look for you here because 'everyone knows' the Hog's Head is a dump where no proper lady or gentleman would set foot."

Albus coughed gently into his fist but donned a mien of innocence, "Though I don't deny that benefit, I disclaim it as a motive."

Dumbledore could discern no signal, but Longbottom had evidently approved the meeting room as the other three joined him. The four removed their cloaks and seated themselves opposite the headmaster, Potter holding the chair for Bones and Longbottom for Greengrass.

"I was most interested in the letter I received yestermorn," Albus observed innocently, "in particular the signature block."

"We four, at the behest of Her Majesty Morgana II, Queen of Avalon, in accord with Her Majesty Elizabeth II, Queen of England, have been directed to assume the role of Head of House to the four Founding Houses of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Longbottom stated formally. He canted his head slightly to Greengrass, who opened her document case and retrieved a sheaf of parchment and three slim volumes.

"This is a certified copy of Hogwarts' current 'charter'," she explained, passing along the first volume. "It was drafted by students under Victoire Malfoy in conjunction with a Parliamentary delegation under Thaddeus Mercer. It establishes the Hogwarts Board of Governors and provides for a Code of Student and Faculty Conduct.

"It is, sadly, almost worthless," she stated as she passed over an unbound document. "Here is an affidavit from the Ministry's Legal Research Division certifying this charter as fraudulent. For whatever reason, royal assent was not sought or obtained within the ten year grace period. Without sovereign approval, Hogwarts' governance defaulted to the original charter, which remains in effect to this day. That's why the Founders' seats in Parliament remain empty.

"Those are your copies," she added, passing over the second bound volume. "This is a certified copy of Hogwarts' original charter, which is currently in effect. If you review the rules of succession within that charter, you will note that there is no provision for succession in the case of losing the Headmaster, the Hogwarts' Heads of House, and the Heirs to the Hogwarts' Houses concurrently, such as occurred during the Sundering."

Daphne paused in her presentation as Dumbledore skimmed through the original charter, confirming her statement. He nodded for her to continue.

She handed him two more documents, "This is an affidavit from the Department of Mysteries Legal Research Division affirming that the original Hogwarts Charter is both in effect and enforceable, and an affidavit from the House of Windsor's Legal Representatives asserting the same.

"And this," she passed over the third volume, "is an amended version of the Hogwarts Charter, as negotiated by we four as representatives of the Student Body, Zachariah the Sorting Hat as representative for the Faculty, and the Queen of Avalon as representative for the Crown. The changes to the original charter are highlighted, but essentially replace the four Founders with we four as Heads of House and provide for succession in the event of another 'Sundering'," she concluded.

"Why you four?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"A number of criteria were set by the Queen of Avalon and the Sorting Hat together," Harry told him. "Zachariah determined we met the criteria. There's a list in one of the appendices to the new charter."

"While _de jure_ you don't actually have any authority in the matter," Susan added smoothly, "You remain the _de facto_ Headmaster, and we all actually want you to continue as _de jure_ Headmaster under the new charter.

"Your acceptance of the new charter will make the transition much easier for everyone," she finished.

"You are in essence asking me to confer social legitimacy alongside your legal legitimacy," Dumbledore noted. "Why should I do this?"

"A better question would be 'Why shouldn't you do this?'" Daphne argued. "Do you have any reasons beyond ego?"

"Well, my ego is quite immense," Dumbledore confessed with an ironic modesty.

"You should because the Hogwarts Board of Governors is leading British Magical Society into ruin, and has been for almost a century," Harry interrupted bluntly. "The Board is made up of a bunch of old derelicts whose brains have been rotted by Pureblood Supremacy-"

"Hey," Neville interrupted. "My gran's on the Board."

"So too is Minerva McGonagall," Albus added mildly.

"Ah…" Harry blushed slightly.

"It seems that Harry's developing the distressingly common Slytherin habit of shoving his foot in his mouth," Susan teased.

"All right, all right!" Harry yielded. "The Board is **dominated** by a bunch of old derelicts whose brains so on and so forth, okay?"

"Eminently," Dumbledore smiled beatifically, leaned back in his seat, and waited for Harry to continue.

"Diatribe aside, the Board's policies of education have long since been devoted to keeping Hogwarts students as ignorant as possible, while propaganda touts Hogwarts as the finest school of magic in the world," Harry claimed.

"Although it's mostly true," he admitted. "Hogwarts is the finest school of wanded magic in the world: OWL and NEWT results support that. There's much more to magic than the wand, though, and most of Hogwarts students leave the school with the mistaken impression that they know much more about magic than they do."

Daphne picked up the topic, "We think that the Board believes that by keeping deeper magic 'in the family,' so to speak, they can keep power out of the hands of muggleborns and the so-called 'lesser' bloodlines."

"There's much more to power than magic, though," Susan continued. "And the 'lower' classes have the power of numbers, of economics, and of the executive government available to them. Riddle will be defeated, whether this year or in ten years, and when he is…"

"We're going to have another muggleborn backlash, just as we had at the turn of the century and after Grindelwald's War," Harry finished grimly. "One that might result in the complete destruction of our existing government, and with it our dominions and lineage magics. We'll end up like the Americans, with all our native magic lost and slowly becoming a client state of the Chinese."

"Harry's prognostication is quite grimdark," Daphne elaborated. "He expects a repeat of the French Revolution. The rest of us aren't as pessimistic, but we're still quite… concerned.

"And the best way to avoid a future disaster is education. Hogwarts does a remarkable job teaching students the magic of the wand. But everything else has been slowly and steadily pruned away until that's almost all it teaches. How long until Astronomy and Herbology are discarded?"

"There has been a proposal to abolish Astronomy as a course recently," Dumbledore mused.

"The Board's long-term actions show that their goal is the complete sabotage of public education. They seem to believe that real learning should be reserved for 'aristocracy'," Neville claimed. "Despite their attempts at sabotage, the public is savvy enough to realize at least some of the power they do hold."

"Of course most of the aristocracy isn't picking up the slack as much as they should," Harry added. "The four of us represent almost ten percent of the British Great Houses. Only one of us had more than the most rudimentary understanding of Dominion and Lineage Magic before our… call it a summer study. The expectation is still that Hogwarts will provide the framework, while the family adds specific details of their individual magic.

"Hogwarts leads the way. The county day schools pattern themselves after Hogwarts. Changes there will flow down. And if the general populace understands more of our native magics, and most importantly **why** we hold the power we do, they'll be less likely to wantonly wreck the system."

Dumbledore beamed at them, "Excellent. Full marks."

"You were testing us," Neville said numbly.

"Of course he was," Daphne smirked, dripping condescension. "We left his care fourteen and fifteen years old, barely halfway through our formal education."

Harry explained further, "He needed to see and hear us make a persuasive argument. Even with unassailable claims and the Headmaster's backing, we'll face stiff resistance in many places. He probably would have agreed anyway-" Dumbledore hummed and waffled a hand back and forth.

"But kept us on a much tighter leash if we had failed," Harry finished.

Neville and Susan exchanged a look of exasperated commiseration. "The two of you are enough to give a bloke an inferiority complex," Neville complained.

"You could at least pretend not to be so ruddy brilliant," Susan added.

Harry looked at them with an expression of wide-eyed innocence and sorrow. "I-I'll try," he whispered. "But I'm very poorly socialized," he continued with a trembling lip. "I'm so sorry," he wailed, earning another light slap from Daphne.

"Knock it off," she ordered. "You're not a toddler, nor anywhere near cute enough to pull that off."

Dumbledore chuckled genially. "I shall sign this charter," he agreed, bringing the discussion back in line. "But there are three legal and magical issues to address: the possibility of imposture, your ages, and your blood houses."

Harry grinned viciously, and turned a pleading look on Daphne. "Let me, let me, let me," he begged.

"Would you quit acting like you're seven?" she demanded, then relented with a huff, passing over a set of documents.

"These," Harry proclaimed triumphantly, brandishing a set four documents, "are Writs of Identity certifying that we are, in fact, Daphne Isabella Greengrass, Susan Amelia Bones, Neville Francis Longbottom, and Harry James Potter, issued by the Magical College of Heralds in cooperation with the Ministry of Magic's Department of Lineage and Inheritance, with our individual magical resonances attached. (1)

"And these," he brandished the second set of four documents, "are Writs of Health issued by St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, certifying that we are healthy, free of disease, magical compulsion, and illegal potions, and temporally nineteen years of age, **also** with our individual magical resonances attached.

"And this," he concluded with a gleeful smirk, brandishing a document bearing the Seal of Gringotts Bank, "is a Gringotts notarized document certifying that the magical resonance on the Writs of Identity matches the magical resonance on the Writs of Health."

"Wunderbar," Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "You wield the bureaucracy against itself."

"The most critical skill for anyone involved in government," Susan commented dryly.

"Now, about your other seats…"

 **03 August 1995**

All across Britain, and in scattered locations throughout the rest of the world, a thread of magic settled onto every witch and wizard who had been educated in British schools. Some worried over it, a magical feeling they couldn't identify. Many ignored it, considering it a phantom sensation. A very few recognized the sensation; they were being claimed as family.

 **THE DAILY PROPHET  
** **4 August 1995**

MISSING SCIONS RETURNED - TASKED WITH REVITALIZING HOGWARTS  
By: Julia Quinn, Staff Reporter

HOGWARTS (2) - While a nation of witches and wizards worried, hoped, and searched, four children had an experience no one could have anticipated. Carried away from the Hogwarts Express by magic over a millennium old, Lord Harry Potter, Lady Daphne Greengrass, Lord Neville Longbottom and Lady Susan Bones spent half the summer in the legendary country of Avalon, where they were given the task of restoring Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Speaking with the Daily Prophet in the Headmaster's office, all four children are calm and composed, giving no sign of distress or nervousness. Despite their outlandish claims, none of the four appear to have any doubt that they will be believed. Certainly the location of the press conference suggests that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore supports them.

"Hogwarts," says Harry Potter, "has been crippled since the usurpation during the Sundering. Despite Victoire Malfoy's efforts to restore the school, a number of failures prevented her from succeeding. As a result, many of the resources that should be available to Hogwarts are in fact sealed away."

That's one of the reasons, the once-missing students claim, that they were tasked with establishing a new charter for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Another is the supposed steady decline of native British magic.

"As Mesopotamia was the birthplace of humanity and the Himalayas the birthplace of Dragons and Phoenixes, Britannia was the birthplace of the Tuatha de Danann, the ancestors of all witches and wizards," says Neville Longbottom. "The British Isles are one of the most magical places in the world, and the very origin of Wizardry. But we're steadily losing what made us the leaders of the magical world in earlier years."

"The Hogwarts' Board of Governors has its own priorities, and they've done an admirable job making Hogwarts the world's premiere school for wanded magic," says Headmaster Dumbledore, "as exemplified by the stunning Diggory-Potter victory during the Triwizard Tournament."

Readers will remember that Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter together won the Triwizard Tournament hosted at Hogwarts this past year, though the victory was marred by tragedy when the portkey on the Triwizard Cup destabilized, causing Diggory's death.

The new Hogwarts Charter is a revision of the original Charter of 987 CE. The governance of Hogwarts is placed in the hands of the Headmaster and the four heads of Hogwarts' Houses.

"The Founders gave a lot for their dream," says Daphne Greengrass, "including their legacies. Every Hogwarts student has heard that 'your house is like your family'. This is a literal truth: the Hogwarts Houses are a magical lineage and the Sorting Ceremony is a magical adoption. The Founders wanted to ensure that ALL magical children had at least one safe haven available. It's why the students who attend the day schools are sorted, as well.

"Since we have claimed headship of the four houses, the lines have been revived. Once more every student in Britain is a member of at least one magical line."

Over the next week, copies of the revised Hogwarts Charter and 'House Handbooks' will be distributed to all current and former Hogwarts students in Britain. A copy of the Hogwarts Code of Student Conduct will be included in this year's Hogwarts Letters for current students.

"We want to be absolutely certain that everyone knows what options they have," says Headmaster Dumbledore, "as well as what they can expect from us, and what we will expect from them."

Neville Longbottom now answers to Lord Gryffindor, Daphne Greengrass to Lady Ravenclaw, Susan Bones to Lady Hufflepuff, and Harry Potter, surprisingly, to Lord Slytherin.

"It was something of a surprise," Potter admits, "but my original sorting would have been into Slytherin had I not been prejudiced against that house. One of my short- and long-term goals as Lord Slytherin is the rehabilitation of my House's public reputation. Between the antics of [He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named], who claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin, and the distortion of Salazar Slytherin's original views on muggleborns, common perception of House Slytherin is very poor. But both ambition and cunning are virtues as much as bravery, loyalty, and intelligence are."

The Office of the Minister for Magic, the Office of Parliamentary Public Relations, and the Hogwarts Board of Governors declined to comment.

For more about the disappearances earlier this summer, see pg 3

For biographies of Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Albus Dumbledore, see pg 7

For biographies of Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones, see pg 8

For contact information, see pg 13

 **Friday, 04 August 1995 - Hogwarts Castle - Staff Room**

Albus Dumbledore believed himself to be a polite man. He was punctual, respectful in address, and strove to never condescend to those of inferior intelligence, ability, or station. He felt that being rude was one of the worst offences a sentient could commit. This was why he had forgone his preferred mode of dress in favor of a more sedate set of maroon business robes. He had greatly wronged his staff, and as part of his apology he was catering to their sadly mundane tastes in fashion.

That staff was seated before him, with Filius Flitwick the last to enter, just seconds before the appointed time of the staff meeting. Dumbledore expected it to be a fractious one. He stood and held his hands out for silence.

"First, I apologize to all of you," he began. "It was no doubt gravely offensive for you to learn of the staffing changes via the Daily Prophet."

Severus Snape's eye twitched. "Potter was involved. Bad manners are to be expected."

"Now Severus-" Dumbledore began.

"Do not seek to placate me with gentle words, Headmaster!" the Potions Master interrupted. "Potter has been insolent from his first day. Do you think this mad idea will end in anything save tears and disaster?"

"I do share some of Severus' concerns," admitted Minerva McGonagall. "Whatever may have happened over the summer, their peers will still think of them as the rising fifth-years that they were."

"We shall have to support them as much as we are able," Albus directed. "Do not reverse punishments they assign," he pinned Snape with a glare, "and especially do not let students convince you to usurp their prerogatives.

"Our new Heads of House have full control over the dormitories and common rooms of their Houses, and we have collectively compiled a preliminary Student Code of Conduct, which you have in the packet of information before you. I ask each of you to review and annotate it, and we will discuss it at next week's staff meeting. Any other concerns before we move on?"

"Why aren't they here?" asked Flitwick.

"I felt that for this first meeting since their appointment it would be best for them to be out of the room," Dumbledore admitted. "They'll be present next week."

"What qualifications do our new Heads have?" McGonagall wanted to know.

"Formally, none," the headmaster confessed, "though I tested them yesterday on Defence and all four were beyond NEWT level. They're taking the NEWT exam for Defence today. I want to run them all through the standard Hogwarts Transfer Student Assessment this weekend. Depending on the results I'll have them take the appropriate OWLs and NEWTs over the next week, and we'll work out a tuition plan for the rest."

"What about the prefectures?" Sprout ventured.

"We request that you who have been replaced submit your recommendations and reasonings," Albus told her.

McGonagall snorted. "Yes, well, my first choice for male prefect is now Lord Slytherin. I suppose it shall have to be Weasley."

Snape scoffed, "Oh, excellent choice. The worst student of the year."

"Not the worst," McGonagall defended.

"Close enough," Snape retorted.

"All right, enough," Dumbledore intervened. "Just… submit your recommendations at the next staff meeting. Other concerns?"

"Are we making any curriculum changes before the 95-96 school year?" asked Sinistra.

"Not outside of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore assured her.

"And DADA?" prompted Flitwick.

"With the renewal of the charter, I and the Heads of House have much greater control over Hogwarts than we did before this summer. We were able to determine that the DADA curse is in fact real, and specifically on the 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' professorship. We are going to circumvent it by renaming DADA as 'Personal and Home Defence'," Dumbledore answered, "which will be taught by our new Heads in rotation.

"We will be contracting a Goblin Curse-Breaking Team to remove the curse, but it's probable that doing so safely could take several years," he finished.

"Anything else?" Dumbledore prompted. When no one spoke up, he nodded once. "Very well. Now, about the budget…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This chapter fought me like a bloody game fish. Trying to balance the idea that 'the pureblood movement is wrong' with 'there is some validity to the idea that magical families have an advantage over a muggleborn that isn't purely social or economic' was way harder than I thought it would be. I'm still not certain I did so effectively.

1\. 'Magical resonance' is simply a magical biometric. Magical society uses it the same way mundane society uses fingerprints.  
2\. It's really, really irritating that ffNet doesn't provide an option for 'justify'. Le Sigh

Meneldur's help, advice, and eagle eyes much improve this chapter and this story. Thank them.


	6. Confrontations

**Chapter Soundtrack:** 'Over the Horizon', by Samsung Corporation

* * *

 **Saturday, 05 August 1995 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Third Floor**

Severus Snape stalked up the stairs with belligerent steps, scowling more fiercely as they shifted to accommodate his destination. Already the presence of the new Heads of House was improving life in the castle; Hogwarts' vaunted staircases hadn't been designed to be frustrating and difficult to navigate, they had been in 'defensive' operating mode since the fourteenth century.

Reluctantly, Snape admitted that some other changes were for the positive, as well. A tension that he hadn't really acknowledged had faded from the school, a tension caused by defenses added by Administrators after the Sundering. Administrators who hadn't technically had the authority to do so. Wedging those protections in place had caused the magic around Hogwarts to hum with unresolved tension.

Most adjusted to it after a short time, mentally tuning it out, but Severus Snape was a Master Occlumens, and so fully aware of what his senses were telling him at all times.

With the full authority of a magically recognized Headmaster and four Heads of House, those protections had been properly integrated into Hogwarts' impressive original collection and upgraded. The anti-apparation wards, for example, now had a permission list - all the professors could now apparate outbound from anywhere in the castle, and point-to-point apparate within the castle and grounds. Locating errant students and professors had become much easier, too. The castle had always been able to track those within, but with the new improvements, it could give that information to those who had a right to it.

With a mental wrench, Snape suppressed his improving mood; he would not appreciate anything that that scum Potter had had a hand in. His heels clicked fiercely against the floor as he stomped towards the pretentiously-titled _salle_ that the new Defence Professors had appropriated. He fingered the handle of his wand with a vicious smirk. Whatever Dumbledore said, he was going to test their capabilities. And he was going to make it painful.

Snape threw open the door to the _salle_ and stalked in. The size of the Great Hall, the _salle_ was floored with polished hardwood, covered with mats. Entrances were set in the center of each wall, and the walls themselves were mirrored for the first storey. Runic arrays glowed faintly with enchantment; Snape could identify it as some sort of softening spell. Weapon racks of various types were placed against the walls. With the door opened, he could hear the sounds of combat. Greengrass, standing just inside the doorway and leaning on a hardwood staff, acknowledged him with a nod, not taking her eyes off the center of the room, where Longbottom and Potter were practicing.

Both young men were wearing undershirts and loose, knee-length trousers, and were lightly sheened with sweat. Longbottom was holding a wand left-handed in an older dueling grip and a sword in his right hand, while Potter was wielding a sword in each hand. Longbottom's weapon seemed to be a blend of an executioner's sword and an arming sword, with a long, straight blade and a cruciform hilt.

Potter's weapons were much lighter and smaller, near textbook examples of light arming swords. All three weapons were of a dark grey metal with an oil-slick sheen that Snape's mind refused to identify. There was no possibility that those two dunderheads had adamantium blades.

The swords rang with continuous cacophony as the two engaged, almost faster than Snape, expert duelist though he was, could follow. The reach and power provided by Longbottom's longer, heavier blade combined with the wand seemed to give him a slight advantage, although Snape thought parrying with magic that way was a very risky tactic; a single mistake could cost Longbottom his wand.

His impression of Longbottom's advantage seemed to be correct; Longbottom deflected a double strike, forcing Potter's defence to open enough for Longbottom to drive his foot into Potter's gut. Snape smiled faintly, savoring the moment as Potter was knocked flat on his back, gasping for breath.

"Touché," cried Greengrass next to him. "Point to Gryffindor!" Potter lifted an acknowledging arm from the floor. "Slytherin, can you continue?"

Potter was stretched rigidly straight on the floor, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Snape recognized the position as a basic treatment for a bruised diaphragm, and his smile widened a touch. Potter in pain was always worth smiling about.

"Aye," Potter wheezed, regaining his feet.

"Combatants take your marks," Greengrass ordered. The two men quickly took positions on opposite ends of the _salle_ , Potter still slightly hunched over. Snape shook his head. _Letting the diaphragm relax like that is more immediately comfortable_ , he noted, _but will make things worse as it stiffens._ "Two all, match point. Begin," Greengrass called.

Snape's eyes widened at the immediate flurry of spellwork as the two of them closed the distance. Potter was using his swords as wands! And then widened further as Longbottom parried some of Potter's magic with his own sword. _That shouldn't be possible!_

With difficulty, Snape forced his contempt for all things Potter aside and analyzed the mock combat dispassionately. The spell selection was basic, with direct fire limited strictly to jinxes and hexes, but they were sparring, not fighting. Both were attempting to use transfiguration and charms to control their environment, although neither managed to succeed before being countered.

The casting speed, spell speed, accuracy and power were… awesome, and neither spoke a single spell aloud. _Perhaps a practical evaluation of their Defence skill is unnecessary,_ he conceded. He'd only seen such spellwork once before, when Dumbledore and the Dark Lord had clashed entirely unrestrained. Although in comparison to those two, the magic involved here was almost laughably simple.

The casting, for all its puissance, seemed almost desultory.

"They're not really duelling with magic at all, are they?" Snape concluded. "They're making sure neither can strike a decisive blow before they come to close quarters."

"Quite," Greengrass answered crisply. "Gryffindor and Slytherin are both at their most potent in close quarters."

Longbottom smiled fiercely as Potter leapt into the air, and Snape echoed the expression with a smirk. Airborne, even wizards were at the mercy of Newtonian physics. Potter had made a critical error…

Longbottom positioned himself to intercept Potter, who was wearing his own smirk. Longbottom stepped forward, sword flashing with a swift and ferocious strike…

Only to stagger as Potter jerked aside in midair. Off-balance, Longbottom was wide open, and Potter almost lazily tapped Longbottom's side.

"Oi!" Longbottom's objection was simultaneous with Greengrass' call of 'touché!' "What was that?" he demanded. "We agreed no active talents!"

"Wasn't a talent," Potter grinned. "That was a Hookshot Charm." (1)

Greengrass' eyes lit up with excitement. "You got it working?"

Longbottom snorted. "Sneak," he grumbled without heat.

"Slytherin," Potter agreed amiably, before turning to Greengrass. "Yeah, I got it working. I refactored the target and source matrices to triangular shapes which eliminated the collapsing array issue with the connection component."

Greengrass nodded, "Yes, that would work, but what about-"

"Explain," Snape interrupted.

"The Hookshot Charm is a derivative of the Summoning Charm," Potter said, "that creates a Newton's Third Law relationship between the magical origin and the target of the charm. The Reverse Hookshot Charm is a similar derivative of the Banishing Charm."

Snape pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Show me." The Potions Master and the two young Heads of House swiftly exited the _salle_ for the Arithmancy labs, already deep in technical discussion, Snape's sense of discovery entirely suppressing his vitriol. It wouldn't be until after lunch that he realized he'd been having a congenial conversation with Potter.

He found Dumbledore's snickering to be in poor taste.

 **05 August 1995 - Ministry of Magic, London - Director's Office, DMLE**

Amelia Bones found her seat quite comfortable. To the carefully concealed amusement of her two guests, she spent at least a minute luxuriating in her chair before she turned her attention to them. With Susan's return, Minister Fudge had directed her to resume her position as DMLE Director; she would be confirmed by the Magi on Monday, and likely working seven day weeks for a month to catch up.

Having re-established her relationship with her office chair to her satisfaction, Madam Bones directed her attention to her two visitors, Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour. "I hear there's been a development in the Weasley-Granger assault," she opened.

"Two, actually," Moody corrected her. "First, we know that the DMLE Active Investigation Evidence Lockup is compromised. That wand you asked about during Granger's interview? It was recovered and properly logged by the Crime Scene Unit. CSU logs include it being receipted by Evidence. Evidence paperwork shows it never existed."

Amelia scowled. "Who's running that investigation?"

Moody shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I passed the info on to Internal Investigations per regulation. We're out of the loop for now."

"I can't tell you, boss," Scrimgeour fidgeted uneasily. "As lead auror of record at the time, you're within remit of the investigation. Despite regaining your position, you're out of the loop on this one."

Amelia puffed out a breath in frustration, nodding reluctantly. "I don't like it, but it's right. Second lead?"

"The Goyle kid's awake and talking," Moody smiled predatorily. "His hand was delivered to St. Mungo's by a wino yesterday and successfully reattached. Long-term, he'll have about five percent impairment, but the healers are pleased.

"Goyle's old enough that, with what we've got on him, we could put him in Azkaban. In exchange for doing his stint in medium security at Barden's, away from the Dementors, he's singing like canary (2). He's named his compatriots: Vincent Crabbe, Eugene Derrick, Lucian Bole, and Draco Malfoy."

"Forensics says there's not enough evidence to properly convict any of them," Scrimgeour cautioned, "but WPS thinks we can at least get them on probation."

"Crabbe and Malfoy's fathers are both active Death Eaters," Amelia noted. "If the two boys are on probation-"

"-then there's a chance something will implicate them," Moody finished. "We'll pull 'em all in and start leaning on 'em."

"Anything else?"

"No ma'am."  
"How'd you like your stint as Director, Rufus?" Amelia teased.

Rufus scowled back at her, "I used to think I wanted a promotion. I've changed my mind. How have you not slaughtered half the Ministry and all of the Legislature?"

"I have it a little better than you," Amelia pointed out gently. "One, I'm a member of a Great House, so they see me as their social equal or superior. Two, I'm a permanent appointment, so they can't stonewall me long enough to make me go away. Three, and most important, I have a fully-stocked minibar in my office."

"That **is** the most important," Moody agreed solemnly.

 **05 August 1995 - London, England - 12 Grimmauld Place**

Sirius Black staggered back, clutching his copiously bleeding nose. His godson had greeted him with a vicious right jab. Sirius caught his heel on the troll's leg umbrella stand that still menaced the house's entryway and went tail over teakettle, blinking blankly up at Harry. The commotion was enough to wake the portrait of his mother, who began screeching her displeasure in the most strident tones she could manage.

Until Harry snapped his wand out and conjured a miniature sandstorm around the portrait. Borne on vicious winds, the grains of fine sand stripped everything above the permanent sticking charm away in tiny fragments. Walburga Black's screeches turned to screams, and rose in a terrifying crescendo for several seconds until the magic of her portrait collapsed, leaving the entrance hall in momentary silence.

Which was broken by a wailing cry, followed by an enraged shout, "Kreacher kill!" Harry half-turned at the noise, too slow to defend as a wave of magic slammed into him, flinging him across the hall and through the wall into the parlor.

Ignoring all attempts to restrain him, Kreacher the House Elf leapt after Harry into the parlor, only to stall mid-leap as his chest disintegrated into a rain of blood, bone and flesh. Harry, his right arm hanging oddly and his left holding a wand, crouched slightly in the makeshift door, eyes flicking back and forth. His clothing, hair, and most of his face were gore-splattered, but somehow his eyes and glasses were clean.

Remus Lupin froze as he burst into the entry hall and took in the scene.

"Well, that was exciting," Harry said cheerfully, fairly certain that no more attacks would be forthcoming. "Only my arm's broken and my shoulder dislocated, so if someone could ring up Ravenclaw, that'd be great. And until then, Padfoot can tell me just what insanity he was contemplating this time."

Sirius blinked twice more, finally turning to Remus and saying formally, "Mr. Moony, Mr. Padfoot requests that whatever Mr. Moony slipped him, he not do so again."

"Mr. Moony must unfortunately inform Mr. Padfoot that Mr. Padfoot is presently sober as a nun," Remus answered, with matching solemnity.

* * *

With a dramatic flourish of her wand, Daphne Greengrass declared, "There, mostly done. Now hold still." She murmured a diagnostic spell and perused it intently.

"Thank you, Ravenclaw," Harry smiled gratefully at her. "My worst injury in two years comes at the hands of a house elf. I told you they were nasty little buggers."

"Lord Slytherin," Sirius repeated. His brain had been vapor locked since receiving that particular tidbit.

Sirius, Remus, Harry and Daphne were all seated around the kitchen table in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Built to grand house elf scale, for humans the room felt comfortably snug. Rough but clean, it was surprisingly welcoming, and the most appealing room in the house.

Harry's shirt had been cut off around his injured arm (Daphne appreciated the view), and he had a cup of black tea in front of him. Sirius and Remus had abandoned tea for Firewhiskey near the beginning of Harry's story.

"Press your elbow against your side and fold your arm over your stomach. You're on limited mobility for the next twenty-four hours," Daphne ordered her patient. With a sigh, Harry complied. Another flick of her wand had his arm wrapped up tight. Harry shifted, testing the bonds, and nodded.

"It's good," he confirmed.

"Do you need help dressing?" she teased.

"One arm here, so yes. Why don't you go get Hermione?" Harry riposted.

"Hmph." Daphne turned away, crossed her arms, and stuck her nose in the air.

"Mr. Moony, did our young Harry just flirt with his healer? And use the opportunity to make a pass by proxy at another pretty young woman?" Sirius prompted.

"Why yes, Mr. Padfoot," Remus answered with a smirk, ignoring Harry's barked protest, "yes he did."

"I'm so proud!" gushed Sirius.

"Oh, do shut up," Harry grumbled. "Now, Sirius, please explain exactly what the devil you were thinking?"

"Uh…" Sirius attempted to prevaricate. "Which time?"

"You made me Lordan Black!" Harry yelled. "What in the world was going through your head? I was already Lord Potter! The only remotelygood thing about this is that you're still Lord Black, so I get to dump it all back in your lap."

With a vicious smirk, Harry raised his hand, "I, Henry James, son of James Charles, of the House of Potter, do hereby renounce all claims on the succession of the House of Black. Given of my own free will, this Fifth day of August, in the Fourteen Hundred Forty Fifth year of Camelot."

Sirius swore roundly as the Black Family Magic flared uneasily. Without an heir, the magic was unsettled, a constant prickling under his skin. "Say, Moony…"

"No," Remus shook his head.

"But-"

" **No**!"

"Am I clear for apparation?" Harry asked Daphne. At her nod, he sighed with relief. "Good, 'cause we're almost late for our Transfiguration exam." The younger pair vanished from the kitchen with a muted crack. Sirius paused, a curious expression on his face.

"Do you suppose they remembered that Harry's half-naked and covered in blood?" he asked his werewolf friend.

Remus cracked up.

 **Sunday, 06 August 1995 - Hogwarts - Library**

Harry was still grumbling about his _faux pas_ the next day. Professor McGonagall had been less than impressed with his attire. That Daphne found the whole situation amusing enough to giggle about simply exacerbated his temper. Still hampered by his bandaging, he was the last to enter the library, having tried to dress himself before surrendering to the inevitable and getting assistance from an elf.

The study area of the library had been rearranged; several tables had been pushed together to make a larger table. Five people were seated there, chatting amiably and waiting for him: Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, Hermione Granger, and Albus Dumbledore. Harry raised an eyebrow and gave Dumbledore a sharp glance at the empty seat at the head of the table. Dumbledore smiled genially and shooed him towards the seat.

"Good morning, everyone," Harry said as he took the offered seat. "This is a meeting of the Order of the Lily and attached auxiliaries. Our agenda is Tom Riddle and his survival. Yes, Hermione, I'll explain all about the Order of the Lily. Later.

"Everyone should have received copies of my memories of my encounters with Riddle. Have you all had the opportunity to review them?" A chorus of agreements sounded from the table, and Harry nodded.

"I have copies of Descartes' On Immortality: Means By Which Death May Be Conquered for everyone, courtesy of the Black Family Lord's Library." A left-handed swish of his wand sent a heavy book to each occupied setting. "I was thinking that we might go over the characteristics Riddle exhibits in our various encounters, and see if we can find a match in Descartes."

"I think the phrase he used during his resurrection-" Dumbledore started.

"Revivification," Hermione corrected him. She flushed brilliantly and looked horrified when she realized just whom she'd interrupted, but rallied her nerves. "Riddle wasn't dead, just discorporated. So calling it a resurrection is incorrect, and assigns him more power than he merits."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore smiled at her. "You are correct. While we must be sure not to underestimate our foe, we must also ensure that we do not concede him more power than he has.

"But I do think that a key lies in the phrase he used during his revivification. 'Further than anyone' is a key, I think, along with 'one or more of my experiments'. Certainly more than one method was employed."

Hermione muttered under her breath as she recorded the Headmaster's observations. Harry simply sat back, pensive. "It's probably a good thing that Riddle didn't have access to this work," he tapped the book before him with two fingers.

"Headmaster, have you determined what works Riddle would have had access to during his time at Hogwarts?" Susan asked.

"Several, I'm afraid," Dumbledore sighed. "Grecian Magic has a section devoted to the Apples of Immortality. Principles of Alchemy discusses the Philosopher's Stone, although given the events of your first year, I think we can rule that out. Elizabeth Bathory, Witch-Queen purports to faithfully record that woman's method. But the most obvious would be Secrets of the Darkest Art, which is a treatise on Horcruxes."

"Oh," exclaimed Daphne. "That's what the diary was. Well, that's a problem for the future…" she trailed off, scribbling on her notepad with sudden furor.

"The future?" Dumble prompted.

"Horcruxes don't really work," Harry explained. "Not the way popular literature suggests they do. The soul is a resilient thing. As long as the body's alive, an injured soul will slowly regenerate. A Horcrux will only sustain the creator if they die within a few months after creation. After that the wound on the original soul will have healed and severed the connection between the original and the fragment.

"The real danger is that, given life and soul energy from someone else, the soul fragment in the Horcrux can heal, too, making a second evil wizard," he finished with a frown. "As happened to young Miss Weasley."

"So Riddle definitely created at least one Horcrux," Susan noted. "The diary."

"Obsessed as he seems to be, he probably made more than just the one," Hermione hypothesized.

"But he did more than that," Neville declared. "Or he wouldn't have revived as he did."

"Not necessarily," Dumbledore argued. "Consider the following scenario. Quirrell encounters one of Riddle's Horcruxes during his travels. Quirrell is too savvy and capable to be simply tricked into surrendering his life and soul energy to Riddle, so the two strike a bargain: Quirrell helps Riddle revive, Riddle gives Quirrell power.

"Quirrell gives the Horcrux enough energy to partially revive, allowing him to exist as a spirit. The two are thwarted, of course, and the partially restored Riddle flees."

Hermione tapped the end of her quill against her lips thoughtfully. "It's possible… But unlikely, I think. Remember that at his rebirth RIddle explained what happened on Hallowe'en '81. If Quirrell had just found a Horcrux, it wouldn't have known that much."

"Unless Riddle was bluffing," Neville suggested. "Even if he didn't know what had happened, he'd pretty much have to claim to know. Death Eaters aren't exactly loyal; he'd need to seem more knowledgeable, more powerful, more capable, and more violent at all times or they'd tear him apart."

"We'll count Horcruxes as a possible," Harry decided. "Is there a reason you're so attached to the theory, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore frowned, and nodded reluctantly. "There is. May we speak in private?"

* * *

"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Hermione wondered.

"Something personal, no doubt," Susan answered. "Do you suppose Riddle counts as an actual sadist, or does he just use the threat of pain as a way to keep himself on the top of the heap?"

"The latter," Daphne's certainty was compelling. "Don't forget to remark the physical traits, both in spirit form and revived form."

"In spirit form, Riddle was basically a head and torso, though with glowing eyes, and looked as though his torso were actually a poncho that was unravelling," Hermione shuddered. "What on earth could be so bad that something like that is preferable?"

"Riddle really fears death," Neville noted. "Although to be fair, while we do know death isn't just the end, not even witches and wizards **know** what happens after death."

"How's that?" asked Hermione, recording Riddle's physical traits in his revived body. "Did Riddle's new body have pores? I know he didn't have hair, but was that a birthing condition or something to do with his skin?"

"Didn't have a nose, either," Susan shuddered. "He's an ugly bugger. Used to be so pretty, too. Such a shame."

"While many consider it a fairy tale," Neville ignored the digression, "well-educated witches and wizards know that the Peverells' work with their dominion, Spiritual Necromancy, proved conclusively that a soul and mind can be recovered intact after death."

Hermione paused, startled, and slowly set down her quill. "Wow. So the existence of **an** afterlife is proven, but what kind is unknown?"

"Unless the Peverells know and aren't sharing," Neville nodded.

"They're extinct, Neville," Susan reminded him.

Daphne disagreed. "The dominion hasn't returned to the House of Magi," she pointed out. "They're unknown, but not extinct."

All four paused as Harry suddenly erupted into laughter, and looked over to where Dumbledore had drawn Harry away from the rest. The Headmaster's consternation was obvious on his face; whatever had Harry laughing, Dumbledore disagreed with his amusement. Until Harry began talking… the Headmaster's expression shifted into rueful amusement, and he, too, started laughing as he shook his head.

* * *

"Sorry for the interruption, everyone," Harry said as he reclaimed his seat. "The Headmaster believed that I was a Horcrux based on the presence of a soul fragment in my scar. I had to remind him about how the Killing Curse works."

Hermione sat bolt upright, "What!?"

"Shh," Harry soothed her, hugging his friend and rocking her gently. "It's alright, and is perfectly understandable. Did we cover the mechanics of the Killing Curse with Moody/Crouch, or just identification?"

"Just identification," Neville grimaced in remembrance.

"It's alright, Hermione, I promise," Harry reassured her. "The Killing Curse works by using a fragment of the caster's soul to disrupt the tethers between body and soul and then collapsing the target's aura. It makes complete sense that there would be a foreign soul fragment in my scar from a failed Killing Curse. It's really nothing to worry about."

"We're getting it out of you anyway," Hermione insisted.

Harry wasn't stupid; he made sure Hermione couldn't see his face before he rolled his eyes. "Okay, that can be your research project."

While Harry helped Hermione through her distress, Dumbledore, Daphne, Susan, and Neville finished compiling and comparing Riddle's physical, mental, and magical traits. The conclusion was vexing.

* * *

"So, to summarize, we don't know everything Riddle did to cheat death, but that doesn't matter, because we do know that he used the Ritual of Ahasuerus (3)," Harry repeated. Dumbledore nodded.

"Whatever else he did doesn't matter," Dumbledore said, "because the counter to the Ritual of Ahasuerus is a universal, rather than a specific counter. It will be difficult though. According to Descartes, 'only a Peverell Blade can kill one who has followed in the footsteps of Ahasuerus'."

"And we don't know what a Peverell Blade is, nor where or how to get one," Neville added helpfully.

Harry gently thumped his forehead on the table in front of him.

"I have a clue!" Daphne cried, returning to the conference table from the Political History section of the library. "The Peverell vote in the House was last cast by Nicholas Potter in 1777. Nicholas Potter was the younger brother of Arthur William Potter, Lord Potter."

"Arthur William? Are you related to the Weasleys?" Susan teased.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Probably, but that's not a Weasley reference. It's a Potter family tradition to name the eldest son after English kings. My eldest son will be named Richard Henry Potter."

"I thought your grandfather's name was Charlus," Daphne said.

"That's a myth perpetuated by the Blacks," Harry told her. "They felt that 'Charles' was too 'common' a name, and when he married Dorea changed his name on the Black Family Tapestry and refused to call him anything else."

Hermione interrupted, perusing a thick, dusty tome, "According to Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy, the Peverells died out in the male line in 1633, and House Peverell became a client to House Potter, into which the eldest Peverell daughter had married.

"The Peverell seat of Scaufletul (4) is said to be located in the Carpathian Mountains, near the western border of Moldavia."

"Excellent!" Harry clapped his hands together once. "Who's up for a field trip?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In my head, I've recast Snape as Adam Driver (Kylo Ren) - Alan Rickman, excellent actor though he was, was really just too old for me to like him in the role. Now I originally expected this chapter to be mostly more talking, but I think I worked in a satisfactory amount of violence.

Next time zombies, vampires, and Gothic Eastern European castles!

1\. The hookshot debuted in 'The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past', in 1991. Harry's patterning a charm after it is completely reasonable chronologically.  
2\. Barden's Keep is the brainchild of O'Shea, whose works Wrath of Merlin and Auror Commander are some of the finest examples of Harry Potter action/adventure fanfiction available. Used with permission.  
3\. In some versions of 'The Wandering Jew', this is held to be the Jew's name.  
4\. Portmanteau of the Romanian 'scaun' (seat) and 'sufletul' (soul).

Meneldur, as always, has a huge role in making this make sense. Thank them!


	7. Scaufletul (Part I)

**Chapter** **Soundtrack:** 'Bloody Hell', remix by Ailsean and Tim Sheehy

* * *

 _"Excellent!" Harry clapped his hands together once. "Who's up for a field trip?"_

Of course it wasn't quite that easy. Actually locating Scaufletul was problematic: 'the western border of Moldavia' is a fairly large area. It took a combination of Potter historical records and Romanian land records to get a more precise location.

Thankfully Dumbledore still had sufficient influence to expedite the group's travel plans. It took less than four hours for an international portkey to be approved.

Hermione's presence was problematic. After being included in the research and planning session, she hotly contested being excluded from the actual trip. Neville pointed out that not only did Hermione not have the same kind of training as the others, but she was also underage and subject to her parents' decisions. Her father mediated a compromise, and Hermione would join the group after Scaufletul had been established as safe.

Hermione extracted a solemn promise from Harry to give her combat training. She wouldn't be excluded next time. Harry swore retribution on Neville.

 **Tuesday, 08 August 1995 - Carpathian Mountains - Scaufletul**

Scaufletul was a large estate occupying a plateau, the highest point for at least thirty miles. A high curtain wall circled the plateau. The four young warlocks and the elderly headmaster stood before the main gate, looking up at it. Large enough for a giant to pass through unbowed, it had two sets of iron-bound oak doors sandwiching a portcullis made of some metal the color of blood.

"No, that's not ominous at all," Susan quipped, shaking her head.

"I can feel the wards," Harry noted. "It's… odd. They're trying to connect to me but…" He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, frowning with concentration. "They want me to claim the property but something is impeding the connection."

"Fascinating," murmured Dumbledore.

"They're all pre-Babbage (1)," Harry added. "And there's a lot of them. More than Hogwarts, but they're not as strong. I can't identify them all, but there's at least as much containment as exclusion, and a whole lot of environmental modification as well."

"Are we sure we want to do this?" Neville asked.

"It's very unlikely that we'll find what we need elsewhere," Daphne said softly. "I don't think we have much of a choice."

"I can tell you that if we locate and remove whatever's interfering with the wards, I'll be able to take full control of the estate," Harry stated with confidence.

"And we've got Albus Dumbledore with us," laughed Susan, eyes shining. "That ups our badass quotient by at least two hundred percent."

"Stop, I'm blushing," Dumbledore grinned.

"So we can get in, Harry?" Daphne asked.

"Through the gate, yes."

"Let's just go," Daphne said, walking through. The others followed, Dumbledore bringing up the rear. He was proud of his students, but at the same time, so very sad. They were too young to be such accomplished warriors. He watched as their clothes rippled as they walked forward, changing to combat dress. Harry, Neville, and Susan were all dressed similarly in sturdy black ankle boots, dark grey trousers with knee pockets, and lighter grey half-robes with deep hoods, belted at the waist with leather belts holding half a dozen pouches each. Only Daphne stood out, wearing a loose-fitting black, ankle-length length dress.

Harry had his two swords, one at each hip, Neville his much larger sword over one shoulder. Susan seemed to carry no weapons at all, and Daphne was carrying a staff as tall as she was in her hand. Dumbledore smiled with a touch of bitterness, remembering how they told him that on the 'mission' they would be using callsigns. Harry was 'Ghost', Neville was 'Vanguard', Susan was 'Breaker', and Daphne was 'Belle'.

 _So ready to go to war._ Dumbledore shook his head sadly and followed his students.

As soon as they were through the short tunnel in the curtain wall, the portcullis dropped behind them and both sets of gates slammed shut. They emerged into the darkness of night, the full moon hanging in the sky.

"Okay, that's a little weird," muttered Daphne. She pushed magic through her hand and a pale 10:37 floated above it. "It's still morning, what gives?"

"It's a ward," Harry noted. "Called a 'day for night' ward. Very popular with vampires. Damn," he swore, sorting through what his senses were telling him. "Okay, we're under containment. If we want out, we need to break that. I could do it by force but I'd need about a day

"I'm getting… a little direction," he continued. "Scaufletul's telling me where we need to go to get at the ward controls. There's a couple things to note. All the structures here are warded heavily against transfiguration and destruction. So we probably won't be able to blast or transfigure floors or walls in any kind of hurry.

"Anti-transport wards are in place and powerful. We won't be able to apparate, fly, or anything else. Including my ghost-step," he grumbled.

"Moving on," Neville ordered, stepping out in front. "That's our destination," he gestured towards the looming structure in the distance. Shadowed in the darkness, it resembled a coffin, with two towers reaching into the sky.

A nervous tension suffused the small party as they trod the path towards the hulking structure. The grasses of the lawn were high and wild, almost over Harry's head, leaving the path distinctly claustrophobic in the darkness.

"We're being watched," Daphne muttered.

"Can you scry?" Harry asked.

"Put me in the middle," she ordered. The group arrayed themselves around her, Neville in front, Harry on her left, and Susan on her right. Neville took her left hand in his own, guiding her steps as she closed her eyes and stretched her magic.

"Headmaster, please bring up the rear," Harry directed, hands resting on his swords.

"Two wolf packs," Daphne murmured. "One on either side of the-"

A sudden rustling warned them as wolves burst from either side, snapping at the five. Harry's half-robe shredded under the teeth of one as he twisted out of the way. Another fell in two pieces, cut apart by the headmaster's fire whip. The rest vanished back into the tall grasses.

"Forward!" Daphne ordered. "It's clear."

"Belle in the lead," Harry snapped. "Half-run, slower if the headmaster needs it. Breaker, long range ground, blast away. Vanguard, close range clean-up. Headmaster, mid-range backup. I'm on anti-air."

Susan's face lit with a terrible glee as a wand snapped into each of her hands. Without hesitation, she flung broad range decay curses in a wide arc. She laughed with joy and flung wide cutting spells, mowing the grass down and then setting it alight with sweeping flame spells.

"Careful!" Daphne warned. "Each pack is led by a werewolf, somehow transformed."

Sweat broke out on Susan's lip as she started blasting at the shadows in the distance. She cackled as she threw out another volley of curses, driving her antagonists into a frenzy. Fragments of reality, like cinematic cuts, claimed a portion of her attention: Harry's half-robe loosed, pulled away in the teeth of a leaping wolf. Neville knocking another aside with a shield and cleaving it in two. The headmaster transfiguring battle debris into chimpanzees. Small creatures dropping from the sky.

"What's up there, Ghost?" Neville asked, covering Susan as she cleared away another mass of tall grass with her decay-cut-burn combo.

"Bats of some sort, heavily magical," Harry muttered.

"Wolves, bats, a dark, gothic manor, eternal night, all in Eastern Europe… anyone else feel like they're in a bad vampire novel?" Daphne quipped.

"If I see Jean-Claude I'm so ditching you all," Susan retorted, laughing like a child as she unleashed another volley of explosive curses, eyes gleaming. "Three more down! This place is great," she crowed, cheering as she spun away from another leaping wolf, lashing out half-randomly with low-flying arc cutters. She left the closest creature for Neville; she had her job and he had his, though she shivered with delight at the yelp that followed the thump of a blade.

Smoke hung heavy and low in the air, stinging their nostrils as the five charged up the steps onto a low portico. Neville crashed to a stop, grabbed the handles of the main doors, and heaved.

Nothing happened. "Door's locked," he called, shouting over another bombardment from Susan. "And Breaker's having too much fun. Ghost!"

Harry slipped between Neville and the door, kneeling to examine the handles. Daphne shouted orders, levelling her staff and unleashing an unfocused wave of power that sent the encroaching wolves tumbling back.

"Breaker! Flame wall, fifteen feet, as fierce as you can," she directed. "Vanguard! Barrier wall, twelve feet. Albus, solid barrier, ten feet. Wait on the others."

Susan pouted, but swept her wands in an arc. Flame streamed from the tips, and rose in a font of heat and light, forming a blue-white curtain screening them from the grounds. She sagged as the ends licked against the building's wings stretching to either side of them, scorching the building but declining to spread. Behind the flames rose a shimmering wall of magic, visible for but an instant before Dumbledore's transfiguration prowess crafted a stone partial dome behind it. All four relaxed slightly as the barriers locked in place.

Sweat gleamed on Susan's forehead as she strained against the expenditure of magic. Howls could be dimly heard on the far side of the barrier, provoking a smirk from the young woman.

"Ghost, time?" Daphne asked.

"Two minutes," muttered Harry. "This is enchanted against magic, have to do it the hard way."

"Fan out," ordered Daphne. The four not unlocking the door spread out a bit, covering all the directions of approach. Daphne was a bit surprised and a lot impressed at how well Dumbledore had slotted into their team. And especially how well he was taking direction.

All four stood vigilant, guarding their teammate as he worked to open their exit. Susan shuddered lightly under the strain of maintaining her flame barrier, gasping with exertion as it dropped. "Flames're down," she said, as though all the rest couldn't tell by the sudden absence of their roar.

A chilling howl soared into the night, followed by snarls and sharp vocalizations and the thump of bodies against something solid. Susan watched Neville out of the corner of her eye as he started showing signs of minor strain.

"Above!" Daphne shouted. Alarmed, Susan looked up to see three small, dark creatures diving towards Harry. With a snarl, she snapped her wand and unleashed three narrow-beamed spear jinxes. Two struck true, imparting enough energy to explode the small targets. The third missed, and Susan sprang between the creature and Harry.

It was a small, black bat, but rather than strike her flesh and cling or bounce, it passed right through her shoulder and body. She felt a deep, deep chill through her innards in a straight line. The bat burst from her body near her spine, and fell, motionless, to the floor.

Susan followed in a moment later, collapsing.

"Breaker?" Daphne asked, kneeling over Susan and casting a swift diagnostic. Dumbledore and Neville both drew closer to the door, their eyes on the shadowed reaches of the portico's roof.

"Cold, numb," Susan ground out between clenched teeth. "Not really painful. I can't control my legs or left arm."

"It's dead," Dumbledore remarked, examining the bat.

"Looks like it passed through your body and shut it down along its path," Daphne murmured, evaluating the spell's reports. "Some kind of disruption magic, but you're already recovering. You'll be fine in a few seconds, you collapsed because it got your spine."

"That was very odd." Susan shook her head sharply and climbed to her feet, retrieving the wand that had fallen from her nerveless fingers. The four reclaimed their spots, closer to Harry and a little more nervous.

"Barrier's down," Neville reported.

"Door's open," Harry said simultaneously. "Everyone in!"

A swift dash had them all through the door and into the forbidding manor house.

* * *

Albus was the last one into the room. He barely caught a glimpse of the room before he spun, slamming the door through which they entered closed and barring it. His fingers dipped into a pouch at his belt, retrieving three lemon drops. He popped one into his mouth and tossed the other two at the door.

Swift wand movements transfigured one lemon drop into a solid brick wall, pressed firmly against the door, and the second into a net of heavy chains. More wand motions had the piton like spikes on the ends of the chains driven hard into the walls on all three sides of the door.

"Very nice, Headmaster," complimented Harry.

"Thank you," Albus acknowledged, wheezing quietly. "But do call me Albus. That was more strenuous than I expected."

"The structures here are heavily reinforced," Harry reminded him. "Whoever did the design took ward stability seriously. It's clumsy, redundant, and inelegant from a modern perspective, but the matrix here is seven by seven by seven, and all 343 nodes are in use."

"I begin to see why," Albus said softly, looking at the room before him.

Once, it must have been grand. Directly opposite the now-barred entrance was a sweeping marble staircase, on which the dirty and decayed remains of a vibrant purple carpet could be seen. The floor was mostly earth, with the broken fragments of granite flagstones scattered throughout. Four sturdy columns rose from the earth, bracing the ceiling three storeys up. Low gaslights illuminated the room, and sunlight-turned-moonlight streamed in from mullioned windows in the third story walls.

But the most arresting feature was the half-decayed corpses clawing their way free of the earth. Albus was sure there couldn't be more than two score, but in that moment they seemed endless, with innumerable blank, rotted eyes turning towards the five.

"Foursquare around the headmaster!" Harry barked, "Shields. Albus, you're on corpse-clearing duty. We need to go up that staircase," he pointed to the opposite end of the room.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore hated killing. During his stint in the judiciary, he had not once voted for the death penalty or the Dementor's Kiss. When in combat, he used his prodigious abilities as gently as possible. While he encouraged both law enforcers and his Order of the Phoenix to use non-lethal methods of apprehension where possible, he recognised that his own intellect, skill, and power gave him advantages that other wizards did not have, and refrained from insisting on non-lethal engagements (2).

The Order had slain 43 of Voldemort's followers during the first conflict, and though Albus mourned every one, only once had he chastised a member of the Order for killing: Walden MacNair had been a member of the Order until Dumbledore realized the man cherished the kill and expelled him.

This stance had the slightly unfortunate side effect of giving Dumbledore few opportunities to exercise his skills to the fullest (The Room of Requirement would be revealed later that year, to Albus' everlasting joy). Even during his legendary duel with Grindelwald, Albus' reluctance to make a killing blow had inhibited him. Albus briefly wondered if Harry realized just what kind of gift the young man was giving him, then shunted it out of his mind.

A snap of his wand had one of Albus' favorite spells manifesting, a long whip of merrily crackling flames. He snapped the wand, bringing the whip around and bisecting one of the zombies shambling towards them. A second flick had the whip disassociated with the wand, and Albus switched the wand to his left hand, wielding the whip with his right.

He was humbled by the trust his four companions gave him as they moved slowly through the room. None of the four made an aggressive motion, all hunkered behind large shields of magic, though he did catch Miss Bones muttering about 'not having any fun'. Neville didn't even flinch as the whip passed within an inch of the young man's shoulder, cutting down yet another zombie.

The smell was starting to get to him, and Albus realized that these weren't inferi but some other necromantic construct. The magic of the inferus forced a dry sort of decay, a kind of mummification. But these were much… wetter. The odor was appalling. The bubblehead charm Harry applied was a welcome relief.

The whip twisted in a broad double-circle, taking the head from seven more zombies, and Albus' wand hand jabbed forward over Miss Greengrass' shoulder, " _Sphaesola!_ " A tiny sphere of white fire leapt from the wand tip and sped across the room, erupting into a burst of flame and light that burned a cluster of zombies to ash.

"I've got to learn that," Susan muttered as Albus cast the spell twice more, each time incinerating more zombies. The spell seemed to have no effect at all on the floor or walls or… anything that wasn't a zombie. Susan was impressed.

Albus wondered at the magic in this room as he tore apart another zombie with the flame whip. They seemed to be climbing out of the ground faster than he was killing them, but could there possibly have been over two hundred bodies buried under this single room? Susan Bones' muttering about his kill count wasn't quiet enough to escape his hearing, and he appreciated her keeping track.

When the group reached the staircase, the formation shifted. Neville, Susan and Daphne stood between the headmaster and the zombies, with Harry behind the headmaster and leading the way up the stairs. Albus noted that once all five were standing on the stairs rather than the earth, no more zombies rose. He let the flame whip dispel and finished off the remaining zombies with quick flame drills.

"I think the headmaster might be a pyromaniac," Susan stage whispered into the descending quiet.

The five carefully made their way up the stairs, and found themselves at the head of a balcony that ran along three sides of the entrance hall.

* * *

The landing was a small haven of calm after the frenetic combat on the grounds and in the entrance hall. All five took a few moments to rest and catch their breath. Neville looked over at Harry and caught the green-eyed gaze, jerking his chin towards the double doors at the top of the stairway. Harry nodded slowly.

"Right," Neville declared. "Everyone got their breath back?" He ignored the soft ache deep in his joints that preceded real fatigue. He suspected the others were doing the same, aside from Dumbledore and maybe Susan.

Harry gave the double doors in front of them a quick once over, declared them clean, and led them through.

The next room felt as though it went on for miles, a curious illusion. Daphne had to shake her head and exercise a bit of magic to dispel the sensation. The room was twice as long as it was wide, with regular alcoves on either side narrowing it further. The floor was fashioned from dark, worn wooden planks. A heavy, breathless silence hung over the room, and a raised dais on the far end supported a life-sized statue of a woman.

But not a human woman, they realized on approaching it. From the hips up, she was a human woman, nude, with beautiful, regal features and oddly thick strands of hair. Where her legs should have been, instead she rested on the coiled tail of a snake. Her lip was curled in a decisive sneer.

"My sister," a soft, alto voice spoke. The accent was curious, almost American, with slightly elongated sibilants. The five turned, sweeping the entire room and seeing a similar woman slithering out of one of the shadowed alcoves. This one, though, bore a round, silvered shield and a short Hoplite blade, and was wearing unadorned armour over a sturdy tunic. The oddly thick hair was writhing slightly.

"Do you like her?" she continued, slithering closer to the five wizards. Dumbledore stepped forward and offered the woman a slight bow.

"Greetings," he offered politely. "I am Albus Dumbledore of Great Britain, and with me are my friends, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, and Harry Potter. We would be happy to help release the curse on your sister."

The four young warlocks looked sharply at Dumbledore, then back at the statue. Careful concentration told them Dumbledore was correct; it was a being under a curse, not artwork. _How did he know?_ Daphne wondered. _That's blooming impressive._

"Why should I want that?" the living woman asked, slightly lifting her sword. "She was willing to debase herself to an unnatural creature. I cursed her when she refused to cease. Now this is my prison." She gestured to the room around her, coming to rest just outside of lunging reach of the wizards.

"The magic here restrains me and sustains me. Though I don't hunger, I haven't eaten in so very long. Now… you are my prey." The woman's writhing hair suddenly flared outwards, rising from her head like a corona.

"Eyes!" Daphne shouted, screwing her shut simultaneously with a shout from the snake woman in Greek. There was a muted thump of a falling body and a cried spell from Susan. Harry's voice hissed in Daphne's ear.

"Dumbledore was a little too slow. Susan's blacked out the room. Do what you can for the headmaster," he ordered. Daphne felt her way to the fallen elder wizard, gently wielding her magic to establish his condition.

The whole experience was simultaneously surreal and terrifying. Susan's spell had completely blocked out all light in the room. She could hear the rustling of the snake woman's slithering, the muttered threats and oaths from all four, the footsteps of her friends, the hiss and clang of swung and parried blades, and Susan's quiet spells.

Daphne had never embraced combat the way her friends had. She was a healer, not a warrior, and though she was competent, with the potential to be the best of them, she didn't have the same drive that made Harry and Neville both excel, nor did she have Susan's absurd strength. Daphne had always been content with that aspect of their relationship, but in this moment, terrified and deprived of sight, she wished she had worked a little harder on sensory deprivation training.

"Belle! Left!"

* * *

The Shield Charm, _protego_ , is considered by most spellcrafters to be the pinnacle of the art. It takes energy directed against it, converts it to magical power, and feeds that back into the caster to bolster them with the very attacks directed against them. It absorbs kinetic energy from physical objects, charms, transfigurations, jinxes, hexes, elemental magic, and over eighty percent of all known curses. Even without considering the boost granted from captured energy, it is the most energy efficient shield available to a witch or wizard.

The Shield Charm has only three weaknesses. First, it requires the caster to maintain an active link with it, preventing it from being layered with any other defences. Second, if overloaded, the feedback causes moderate pain to the caster, and possible damage if the caster's magic is still immature. Lastly, the requirement of maintaining an active link prevents the caster from doing anything but holding the charm under most circumstances.

Despite these minor drawbacks, the Shield Charm is considered the most versatile and potent defence in any Wizard's arsenal, and is the only shield on the standard Defence curriculum. It is considered to be the most appropriate response to any unknown attack.

Daphne learned to her chagrin that it was not the appropriate response to being struck by a snake two feet thick. At the warning cry, she had flung her left hand out and channeled a Shield Charm through it and crouched lower. The snake-woman's tail impacted the charm, overloaded it, and continued on to strike Daphne in the ribs and send her tumbling through the darkness.

Dizzied and disoriented, Daphne forced herself into a low crouch, balancing on the balls of her feet and her fingertips. Her instincts warned her to **move** , and she would have been fast enough had she not made one tiny mistake.

She tried to apparate. The apparation construct collapsed before it could fully form, suppressed by Scaufletul's wards, and Daphne let out a cry of despair that turned to a cry of pain as something hard slammed into her chin. _The snake woman's shield,_ she realized, sprawling onto her back and cracking her head against the wooden floor.

Wordless, hissing snarls of rage followed her, and her ankle was suddenly numb, only to flare into blazing agony moments later. There was a dull crack just above her, and she was splashed with something warm, sticky, and wet, smelling strongly of copper and iron. A heavy vibration felt through the floor was suggestive.

Moments later, the darkness faded. The headless body of the snake woman was lying on the floor next to her, within arm's reach. Daphne blinked slowly at it, then tried to sit up. She was having trouble moving her leg for some reason, and looked to see why…

With her injuries, the sight of her ankle being nailed to the floor by the snake woman's sword was one shock too many. A deeper, warmer blackness blanketed her as the sudden drop in blood pressure left Daphne unconscious.

* * *

Daphne had a brief moment of panic as her eyes snapped open, until she saw the grime-streaked face of Susan Bones leaning over her. She could feel herself wrapped up tightly, and was uncomfortably warm. She recognized the basic treatment for shock. Vague aches penetrated a haze she recognized as an analgesic spell.

"Don't try to talk or move," Susan warned her. "Your jaw was cracked. Harry rebonded it, but it's not set yet. You're missing some teeth and won't be able to walk until you've recovered enough to treat yourself, but you're stable.

"You reversed enough of the Nagorgon's (3) petrifaction curse that Dumbledore could fight off the rest of it on his own. He'll recover within an hour. The rest of us are fine, just achy and tired. Apparently the Nagorgon really takes offense when you block or counter her petrifaction curse. When she realized what you were doing she got distracted enough for us to take her out.

"We're mostly secure, so we're going to rest for an hour or so until you and Dumbledore are at least ambulatory again." Susan gave Daphne a shaky smile, and gently hugged the other woman's head. "I'm glad you're alright, Belle. That was scary."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Yes. Susan Bones is a Blood Knight. Deal with it. :) Daphne was **supposed** to be a badass combat medic, but my team apparently had too much badassery so, sadly, she got downgraded to competent combatant and awesome medic. Pity.

This chapter was murderous, and really irritating. I've been looking forward to writing this since I started the story, and then the time came and I just… blanked, procrastinated, and struggled. I wanted to cry.

Well, at least I got 'Hidden Dragon' out of it.

Thanks to HaywireEagle for the suggestion to change the alloy used in Neville's and Harry's weapons, even if they did make me feel a little silly for missing an obvious choice.

1\. Charles Babbage. In this reality he was a wizard and applied early computing principles to warding… or perhaps the other way around.  
2\. It's really common to see fanfic authors making Dumbledore some sort of uber-pacifist, but I remind you of Remus' comment in the Deathly Hallows: "Harry, the time for disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren't prepared to kill!" Only Harry really takes issue with it - the pacifism is really Rowlings' and Harry's, not so much Dumbledore.  
3\. Portmanteau of 'naga' and 'gorgon'.

Sadly, Meneldur was unavailable to give this chapter the usual polish.


	8. Summary

**-AUTHOR'S NOTE**

Summer sucked. My workload trebled after half my team upped sticks for sunny California and left the rest of us twisting in the wind. Things have FINALLY calmed down and I have time to do more than eat, sleep, and work again, but... I've lost the story. I can't seem to get my head into the characters again and it's just not there. So this is the final chapter, and I'm putting in summaries of the remaining story chapters.

* * *

 **CHAPTER VIII: Scaufletul (Part 2): 1995-08-08**

More travelling through the castle and encountering strange creatures of magic. Comments on the similarities to classic horror and speculations as to whether the genre in modern media is related to the castle or whether the castle is playing to their expectations derived from modern media. Final ascent is from a tower to another tower, with the intervening bridge defended by a dragon. Susan gets her chance to shine, taking down the dragon with an assist from Dumbledore while the other three defend them. They meet Nicholas Potter (who claims the title Dracula) in the Lord's Quarters and Harry is dragged into a mental battle while the other four get smacked around in reality. Harry wins the mental battle with the aid of Scaufletul and destroys his ancestor.

 **CHAPTER IX: Arcubed: 1995-08-09**

Rest, Recovery, and Research = RRR = R^3 = R cubed. A week is spent at Scaufletul. With full control of the wards, Harry can clean up the castle pretty well and unseal the library. Character moments between Neville and Harry, Neville and Daphne, Harry and Susan. Sir Edward Kelley is discovered to be the grandson of a Peverell, and to have recorded the Peverell Blade in a treatise titled 'Spiritual Matters'.

Peverell Blade: A Peverell Blade can kill any one magical being. The creation of a Peverell Blade is an extremely complex process. First, the blade must be forged from a very specific magical alloy of gold, silver, titanium, iron, and phosphorus. Once forged, the blade must be quenched in a potion created from thestral blood, the blood (or ichor) of the target, and the juice of the apples of Idun. Finally, the Ritual of the Deathly Hallows must be performed over the blade. Only a Peverell Blade (or a god) can kill a successful celebrant of the Ritual of Ahasuerus.

The Ritual of the Deathly Hallows: A ritual performed over an object, using the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility as its focal points. The ritual allows the object to interact with incorporeal beings, and renders the three Hallows inert for a year and a day.

The problem of Voldemort's blood is solved, he used Harry's blood to revive, so Harry's blood can be substituted in the blade for Voldemort's. Elder Wand and Cloak of Invisibility known, Resurrection Stone lost. They resolve to try to trace the Stone through history at Hogwarts. As they leave, Harry is greeted by a representative of the Romanian Treasury with a bill for estate taxes.

 **CHAPTER X: Journeys: 1995-08-17  
** Chapter Soundtrack: The Eagles - Take It Easy

Dumbledore returns to Scotland via Portkey, but the four heroes decide to travel overland and enjoy a vacation. Harry calls Hermione, and they meet up with her in Bacau, Romania. They travel via motorcycle. Route: Bacau, Romania Budapest, Hungary Vienna, Austria Prague, Czechia Dresden, Germany Nuremburg, Germany Frankfurt, Germany Brussels, Belgium Dunkirk, France Calais, France Dover, England. Sometime during the trip Harry and Hermione sleep together and end up agreeing that they love each other but there's no passion or sexual spark between them - Hermione likes her men strong and tall to make her feel 'dainty' and Harry likes his women softer and rounder than Hermione. They agree to be friends/siblings.

 **CHAPTER XI: The Hogwarts Express: 1995-09-01**

Harry, Neville, Susan and Daphne hold a press conference in the last carriage of the Express and discuss the Hogwarts Charter, the four houses, and the politics of the legislature and the houses' rules of succession and family magics. Their friends (Hermione, Hannah, Tracey for certain, Ron?) are invited, and after the press conference they discuss expected behaviors in a more intimate setting. Announcements after the feast include discontinuation of 'Defence Against the Dark Arts' and institution of a new class called 'Personal and Home Defence'. (End run around the DADA curse).

 **CHAPTER XII: The First Day: 1995-09-02**

(The Scenes below were previously written)

SCENE:

 **Saturday, 02 September 1995 - Hogwarts - Slytherin Fifth Year Girls' Dorm**

Pansy Parkinson wasn't a pretty girl. Her face was too narrow, her nose a little too large, her mouth a little too wide, and her eyes too far apart and not quite even. She could manage 'striking' and 'attractive', though, with her luxuriant golden blonde hair and her figure.

She stared at her reflection in her dressing mirror, wand wielded with a surgeon's precision as she darkened her eyelashes and added a bit of curl to her hair. Her reflection scowled back at her. Dressed in her school uniform, an outfit designed to all but neuter its wearer, she only barely managed 'striking' and couldn't even approach 'attractive'.

She quickly stripped down to her underwear, tossing the despised garb carelessly aside and opening her trunk and pulling out more provocative daywear. She glanced at the door as it opened, then returned to perusing her clothing after identifying the interloper as Millicent Bulstrode.

"Hot date?" Bulstrode asked. Pansy shook her head.

"No, I'm meeting Lord Slytherin. My father's gone madder over the summer; I need to ask Lord Slytherin for sanctuary. I need as many positive influences as I can get."

Millicent winced in sympathy, "Yeah, your history together isn't all that good."

Pansy snorted in agreement, "That's one way to put it."

"So, what do you expect to happen?" Millicent asked, beginning to pick out clothes from Pansy's collection.

"I expect he'll listen to my request, smile, pat my hand, and promise me an answer before the holidays. Then he'll decide I'm not worth it and toss me to the wolves," Pansy sighed.

"I don't know," Millicent mused. "Granger says Potter's got a 'saving people thing'. He might surprise you."

Pansy pursed her lips and shook her head, "There's no advantage to him helping me."

"No immediate one," Millicent agreed, discarding another blouse. "But long term I can think of at least three: Slytherin show it's powerful enough to defend its members against even Great Houses, Potter as Lord Slytherin shows he's willing to help out even a former enemy, and everyone gets a visceral example that Potter and the rest are true to their word even in adversity."

Pansy shook her head with a smile, "Just how you managed to get the Gryffindors aside from Granger to believe you're dumb, I don't know."

"I'm big," Millicent shrugged, setting aside a dress. "Stand behind you, look menacing, don't talk, and everyone automatically assumes dumb muscle. So… what do you hope from the meeting?"

"Um…" Pansy's gaze unfocused and she leaned back on her bed. "I hope he sits me on his desk, rucks up my skirt and speaks parseltongue to my cootchie? Then bends me over the desk and violates me until I can't stand straight. Then puts me under the Imperius and orders me to suck his cock until he comes in my mouth."

Millicent froze, watching her friend with her eyebrows raised. "Seriously, Pans? Getting raped turns you on?"

"I don't know if it's the raping part," Pansy said slowly. "But being under the Imperius Curse certainly does. I had to change my panties after that lesson last year."

"You're screwed up, Parkinson," Millicent told her.

"Do you know anyone who isn't?" Pansy challenged her with a smile.

"Not really," Millicent admitted. "Honestly, though. Getting off on getting raped?"

"Is it still getting raped if I want it to happen?" Pansy wondered.

"You'd have to ask your solicitor," Millicent told her. "Or maybe Granger."

"She'd freak," Pansy giggled. "Totally freak."

"Maybe. She might surprise you, though," Millicent offered. "Anyway, my mum says that when dressing, you should always dress as though the most desirable outcome was a foregone conclusion. Where's your sexy underwear?"

END SCENE

(This is a summary of another scene already written)

SCENE:

Draco receives a note during mail call, borne by a non-descript owl:

Mr. Malfoy,

Report to my office before lunch.

H Potter  
Head of House, Slytherin

[Describe Slytherin's office. (Plastered walls, beige. Geometric throw rugs over dark oak floors. Comfortable but plain furniture. Glass mosaic of slytherin house crest behind the desk.)]

In Harry's office.

Harry: "Come in, Master Malfoy, and be seated."

Draco: "What do you want, Potter?"

H: "This is a copy of the Charter of Hogwarts, granted by Ethelred the Unready, and renewed by William I. I want you to read the highlighted passage."

 _In all conflicts between rulers, Hogwarts shall remain neutral. Any belligerents within Hogwarts walls shall respect that neutrality in good faith. No arms shall be raised in aggression within Hogwarts' walls._

H: "Mr. Longbottom is having the same discussion with Master Weasley that I am having with you. Your father serves the Dark Lord, and you honor your father **as is just and right**. Headmaster Dumbledore and I oppose the Dark Lord.

H: "Within these walls, none of that matters. This is a place of scholarship and learning. If the Dark Lord himself walked in, so long as he did so in peace and good faith, the Headmaster would greet him politely.

H: "I expect you to comport yourself with dignity, restraint, and good manners. You are a son of Slytherin house. You will act like it."

D: "And if Weasley attacks me?"

H: "Target his limbs with bone-breakers. Follow up by stunning, disarming, or binding. Use no magic that would put him in mortal peril, so stay away from cutters. Weasley's temper is a weakness. Exploit it and keep your own. And win.

H: "If you should lose and embarrass me, you and I will be conducting combat drills until I consider you competent. If you should draw first and shame me, you will spend every evening from now until Yule running laps around the Black Lake.

H: "If you should draw first and **lose** , you will wish the Dark Lord was punishing you. Am I understood, Mr. Malfoy?"

D: "Yes, sir."

H: "Then you are dismissed."

END SCENE:

(And finally, Pansy's visit with Harry is also written)

SCENE:

 **02 September 1995 - Hogwarts - Slytherin Head's Office**

Pansy felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she strode down the corridors to her meeting with Lord Slytherin. She'd been hiding in plain sight since before starting school and shedding the disguise left her feeling almost giddy.

Not a trace showed of her glee showed on her face, she simply wore a confident half-smile to complement her outfit. Pansy's fitted dress was darker shades of blue, from midnight to navy. The bodice was made from rhomboid segments in nearly matching hues, closely fitted to flaunt her trim waist and full bosom. The neckline was modest, almost demure, but with Pansy's natural advantages still drew the eye.

The loose half-sleeves and knee-length skirt were a slightly lighter shade and partially translucent. She accessorized with silver stockings and and navy blue kitten heels. Pearl drop earrings, a three-stranded pearl choker, and two matching three-stranded pearl bracelets completed the look.

Pansy preened internally at the comments she drew as she made her way to her Head of House's office. In an attractive, modern dress, with a complimentary rather than unflattering hairstyle, and appropriately chosen makeup, almost a quarter of the students didn't even recognize her.

Of those who did, the feminine half seemed largely amused at the transformation with isolated instances of envy, while the masculine half was overly concerned with the location of her wand. Pansy found it all amusing, and mentally wagered on how many propositions she would receive over the next week. She rapped crisply on Lord Slytherin's office door.

"Enter!"

Pansy pushed the door open and made her way into the room.

"Miss Parkinson," he greeted her without looking up, "please take a seat." Lord Slytherin gestured towards the visitors chairs. "I'll be with you in a few moments." His attention returned to the parchment on his desk. Pansy watched his quill move in smooth strokes as she sat, her mind wandering.

Potter, now Slytherin, really was quite handsome, she decided. And powerful. She had heard whispered rumors that the Founders' Successors had spent more time away than a single summer, and she could believe it. Slytherin had a presence, a sense of leashed but ready power, that Potter could never have managed.

Pansy could feel a portion of his attention on her, despite his apparent devotion to his paperwork. It stroked her skin like a caress, prompting her to sit a bit straighter and elegantly cross her legs. She knew that her changed posture drew more of his attention, and smiled a bit wider.

 _Damn Millicent_ , she swore to herself, _and damn Hormones. I'm here to get his protection, not get him to ravish me._ She forced herself to regulate her breathing, but couldn't do a thing about her pulse speeding up. _How does he do this to me?_

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Parkinson. You were a bit early," Slytherin told her as he carefully sanded the document he'd been working on. Pansy smirked a bit. Of course she'd been early, no one sane would be late for their first meeting with a new Head of House. "What can I do for you?"

"I wish to renounce House Parkinson and claim House Slytherin," she said.

Lord Slytherin actually fumbled the quill he was reaching for, though he just managed to master his expression. Pansy took a vindictive satisfaction in discombobulating him; he'd been doing the same to her since the feast.

"Elucidate," he instructed.

"I'm not in House Slytherin because I'm terribly cunning. I learned some, but it's not really natural to me. I'm in House Slytherin because I'm ambitious. I want to be the first witch in space, the first witch to stand on the moon, the first witch in extralunar orbit, and the first witch to stand on another planet.

"I've been working for this since I was six. I pre-studied Astronomy and Arithmancy even before I came to Hogwarts. I've been consistently in the top ten percent in Transfiguration, Charms, Runes, Arithmancy, and Astronomy. I expect Outstanding OWLs in all five subjects.

"I even had a plan for post-Hogwarts, both for further education and financing."

"What was that?" Slytherin interrupted.

"I would find a wealthy but weak-willed wizard and control him with sex," she answered shamelessly. She just stopped herself from expressing admiration for Nora Zabini. She'd save that for if they got involved and she wanted to get uninvolved. Her audience just nodded.

"The Dark Lord's revival makes this a problem, though," she finished.

"Why?" Slytherin asked. "Your father's not a Death Eater, and your family's not associated with Voldemort."

Pansy flinched slightly at the name, eliciting an exasperated huff from Lord Slytherin, but shook her head. "Not yet," she said darkly. "But the Dark Lord's performed an impossible feat of magic. He died. And now he's alive again. Not a necromantic construct, but actually alive. That kind of magic draws attention, and with the Dark Lord's dogma, my father's falling all over himself to bind our House to the Dark Lord."

"And if it hasn't yet occurred to him that he has a daughter he can sell off, it soon will," Slytherin concluded grimly. Pansy just nodded, a short, jerky thing.

Slytherin leaned back in his seat and fell completely still, staring intently at her. He didn't even seem to breathe or blink. Pansy found it slightly unnerving, and slightly arousing.

"Did your father follow tradition with your dowry?" he asked.

Pansy nodded again, more surely. "Yes. It's in my possession but not under my control."

"Are you willing to surrender it to House Slytherin?"

"Will House Slytherin dower me when I wed?" she challenged.

"Yes," he affirmed, "with the amount varying based on your OWL and NEWT scores."

"Then I'll surrender my dowry to House Slytherin," she agreed.

"And you realize that this makes you Chatelaine of House Slytherin as the eldest unmarried female of a House headed by a bachelor?"

"I can live with that," she said quickly. Too quickly. Slytherin's brows rose and Pansy cursed inside her head. The congenial, nearly flirtatious, atmosphere chilled as though a Dementor had passed by.

"Was that your primary purpose?" he demanded.

"No," Pansy denied. "My primary purpose is to get myself out of my father's control before he tries to use me to court favor with the Dark Lord. It is the reason I acted so swiftly, though," she admitted.

 **CHAPTER XIII: The DA: 1995-10-02**

During 'Personal Defence' a new club, the 'Defence Association' is announced. The purpose of the DA is to serve as a 'student militia' for the defence of Hogwarts. Their mission is to delay or stop enemy forces in the event of an attack on the school to allow for evacuation and lockdown. They train in four-person fireteams, with one person physical defence (using conjuration and transfiguration to provide cover), one person on magical defence (shields, counter-spells), one medic (heal minor injuries, stabilize major ones, and one attacker. The DA is a 'stepping stone' to the Order of the Lily, a paramilitary force devoted to Hogwarts. The first lesson is on accuracy and agility drills. At the end of the chapter Daphne informs the rest that she has discovered the location of the Garden of Hesperides, where the first component of a Peverell Blade (Golden Apples) can be retrieved.

 **CHAPTER XIV: The Battle of Azkaban: 1995-10-16**

The Garden of Hesperides is protected by a Fidelius Charm; the secret is held by a Librarian in the Library of Alexandria by the name of Glaucus. He is willing to part with the secret in exchange for someone taking his place as Archivist for one month. They offer the opportunity to Hermione who accepts. They discover that the Garden can only be accessed during the Southern Summer Solstice (1995-12-22).

Snape reports that Voldemort intends to break his followers out of Azkaban on Halloween. Voldemort's forces will engage in 'muggle-baiting' raids to draw attention and manpower away from Azkaban, and with the Dementors on Voldemort's side, the prisoners will just walk out. The Order of the Phoenix will respond to the diversion while the Order of the Lily (Comprising, at this point, just Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Susan) defend the prophecy at the Department of Mysteries.

The OL wards the cell doors at Azkaban with an alert ward, in case Azkaban is the diversion and the DoM is the target. When Snape's information proves accurate, the Orders counter-attack Azkaban. The Death Eaters are pushed back until Voldemort counter-counterattacks. The OL engages him and the OP is pushed back. Both sides withdraw, but Voldemort achieves his objective: the prisoners are freed. Neville is badly wounded during the engagement.

 **CHAPTER XV: The Calm Times: 1995-11-01**

Harry rants about having to engage Voldemort so soon and give away their ability level and some of their powers. The OL + Dumbledore debrief and plan: What did the Orders learn, what did Voldemort learn, what should the LET Voldemort learn via spy, and how do they think Voldemort will act to counter them. They agree to let Voldemort learn about their fighting styles, that they were 'kindled', and that Susan's the most magically powerful of the four. Daphne presents a modification to the Ritual of the Deathly Hallows that will allow four Peverell Blades to be made rather than just one.

 **CHAPTER XVI: In the Garden: 1995-12-22**

The Garden is located in Antarctica, in a sort of tangetial dimension. The heroes face three yeti at the entrance. The garden itself is made up of seven concentric circles with the apple tree at the center. Each 'circle' has its own defence, with the tree defended by Ladon, a serpent/dragon hybrid. Harry attempts to negotiate with Ladon (Parseltongue), but is attacked. During the battle Daphne is mortally wounded. They use the apples to restore her but there are side effects.

 **CHAPTER XVII: Consequences: 1995-12-24**

Daphne's magic is badly out of balance, saturated with 'life/creation' power. He healing spells are ridiculously overpowered to the point of causing cancerous growths, and her destructive spells have random effects. Her 'neutral' spells have varied effects and are all under or over powered, seemingly randomly. Daphne's placed on medical restriction while she learns to control her 'new' magic. They begin modifying the apple to serve as the blade wash: First making an extract, and then alchemically inverting that extract.

They learn that after the battle of Azkaban Voldemort REALLY wants the prophecy and plans to trick Harry into retrieving it. Also that Voldemort's going to undergo the 'kindling' ritual himself. Since he's not the right age, they believe it will have significantly lesser effects. Voldemort unlocks MAJOR Elemental Magic: Earth Primary (Gravity aspect). Tracing stories and tales they deduce that the Resurrection Stone is responsible for the legend of the _Flying Dutchman._

 **CHAPTER XVIII: _The Flying Dutchman:_ 1996-01-15**

Piecing together reports and tales, they construct the route of the _Flying Dutchman_ as: England Australia India Cape of Good Hope Brazil Caribbean England. Very little factual information is available about the FD, as it's just not important to the magical world. The Order of the Lily constructs a small airship based on Beauxbatons' carriage and broomstick enchantments, and uses it to intercept and board the FD. OL has 24 members now, and all are involved in boarding and capturing the the Dutchman. Daphne's new magic counters and neutralizes the Dutchman's necromantic aura, and the stone is retrieved. The Dutchman's crew appear normal in sunlight, skeletal in moonlight, and corpse-like at other times. One OL member is Alex Frisch (Visual Effects Supervisor: Pirates of the Carribean - Curse of the Black Pearl)

 **CHAPTER XIX: Matters of Import: 1996-02-18**

During the OL weekly briefing, Harry reports that Draco Malfoy has offered to spy for the Order, being disgusted at the fact that his father's 'power' is built on lies and cheating. Lily Evans Potter's work has been discovered, and Daphne and Dumbledore are tasked with seeing if they can reconstruct it. In March, Daphne, Hermione, and Dumbledore report on Lily's work and Harry's connection: He and Voldemort share an ARTIFICIAL Soul Bond. Daphne points out in private that if they can't break the link then when V. dies so will Harry. At the end of March Draco reports that V. is planning to seize the prophecy by force during a full-scale assault on the Department of Mysteries. Snape reports on the Dark Lord's Order of Battle, and plans are made for the two Orders' orders of battle. Mid-may both orders go into general stand down and ready alert.

 **CHAPTER XX: Enemy Contact: 1996-06-01 (Full Moon)**

Riddle's forces consist of 16-24 werewolves, 80-120 inferi, 3 vampires, and 17 Death Eaters. His goals are to acquire the Prophecy, announce his return, and damage as much British Infrastructure as he can. His tactics are to invade the DoM en masse, and split his forces into task groups after claiming the prophecy.

Potter's forces consist of the order of the Lily (Nine Strike teams), and the Order of the Phoenix. His goals are to kill or capture the Death Eaters, to kill the Alpha Werewolf, to contain the remaining werewolves, to destroy the inferi, and to destroy Riddle.

The Ministry's forces consist of 18 hit wizards in six three-man teams. Their goals are to kill or capture Riddle and to maintain the integrity of the ministry. The hit wizard teams will guard critical infrastructure - Riddle is a secondary objective.

The battle results: Potter Forces: 13 KIA, 37 WIA, 0 POW. Riddle Forces: 13 KIA (Werewolf), 7 KIA (DE), 1 KIA (Vampire, credited to Elizabeth Summers, OL), All Inferi Destroyed. WIA (All werewolves), 10 WIA (DE), 2 POW (Vampire). Ministry Forces: 0 KIA, 0 WIA, 0 POW. Significant damage to HQ-DMLE, Games and Sports. Minimal damage to Magical Transport, Department of Education, DoM. Riddle escapes with Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Susan in pursuit.

 **CHAPTER XXI: Tom and Lily: 1996-06-01**

Riddle flees, but the ASB is strong enough and Harry's magical control is fine enough that the four can track him. The Lily confront Riddle first in Riddle Manor, barely exchanging spells before Riddle unleashes Fiendfyre and flees. The manor burns as Lily pursues. The next confrontation is in the Forest of Dean. Riddle attempts to rest and flee as the Lily stalks him. Riddle wounds Susan enough that she's sent to St. Mungo's, and counters Harry's _Ghost Step_ , destroying Harry's wand and severing the fingers from his right hand before fleeing to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry, as Lord Slytherin, inverts the wards in the CoS, containing Riddle there. After stanching the bleeding he, Daphne, and Neville pursue.

Final battle in CoS. After exchanges, Riddle unleashes full power of Gravity Magic on opponents. Harry breaks with _Ghost Step_ , but Riddle counters again and taunts. Harry anticipated counter and used it to position himself. Harry stabs Riddle with Peverell Blade for victory. Harry 'dies'.

 **EPILOGUE**

Daphne uses the magic of the Golden Apples to sustain Harry's body while Neville captures his soul with the Resurrection Stone. When the Resurrection Stone is restored after a year and a day, Harry's soul is restored to his body.

Harry and Pansy are later married, holding the ceremony on the surface of the Moon, under a full Earth.

Neville and Hermione are married in the Library of Alexandria.


End file.
